


Heart of Gold

by your_dragon_just_shot_at_me



Series: Heart of - Detective Pikachu [1]
Category: Detective Pikachu - Fandom, POKEMON Detective Pikachu (2019), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Cop Drama, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Loss, Lucy tried, Maybe she will get a happy ending, Post Detective Pikachu Movie, Potential movie spoilers, Team Skull (Pokemon), cursing, lots of swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2020-07-17 20:35:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19962625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/your_dragon_just_shot_at_me/pseuds/your_dragon_just_shot_at_me
Summary: Was staying in Ryme City a mistake? Things had died down after the attack by Howard Clifford and the dust settled. Life went on and went back to passing Tim by. Had he really thought one adventure would change much in his life?Lucy hadn't really gotten her big break. No one would let her back on television. She needed her next big story to show she wasn't some one hit wonder.Harry Goodman was back in his life but he didn't know anything about being a dad anymore.And here he was, back at square one. Jobless. Partnerless. And still terrible at dating.





	1. Magnet for crazy people

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: While this work is finished and I am in the middle of editing and posting the direct sequel, I have decided to go back edit this further and repost the chapters. Content has not necessarily changed, nor the story, but it is more polished.

Tim’s phone rang on the table next to him. He ignored it. Harry sipped his coffee, reviewing the notes of his newest case. 

“Aren’t you going to answer it?” Harry asked just as the phone call went to voicemail. Tim stared at the want ads. Between searching online, searching around their small apartment and the want ads, he had zero idea what he wanted to do. He was regretting quitting the insurance company. Transferring would have been an option, there were plenty of offices here in Ryme City, but wouldn’t that just be transferring his misery? 

Now Lucy was calling over and over. Because he refused to answer. Their singular date was full of awkward experiences and him being dragged around. Literally. She was nice enough and cute, but that wasn’t enough as he found. He wasn’t sure what they had in common other than their shared experience with MewTwo. That was one thing. Ok, maybe there was some mutual attraction, but that wasn’t enough when they struggled to find a topic of conversation or an activity they could enjoy together. He still couldn’t explain what happened to his dad to Lucy, even if the same thing happened to her and Psyduck. On top of that, she was super busy trying to stay on top of becoming the next big reporter on CMN, and he was a jobless guy not sure what to do next with his life. 

Tim questioned why he stayed with his dad again? Why was he even in Ryme still?

His phone started ringing again. He tried to ignore it again. 

“She’ll just keep calling.” Harry nudged the phone closer to his son. “Thought you two stayed friends.” 

“We did. Are. Whatever.” He grimaced at the phone as a third call came through and he finally answered. “Hey.” 

“Still looking for a job?” She knew the answer, so why did she even ask when she didn’t wait for a reply, “Want to meet up? I am tracking down some Team guys that took over the Pokemon battles down near the pier.” 

“I-I really don’t…” 

“Meet you at the Cafe.” She hung up and just expected him to go down to Hi-Hat and meet her. Did he even get a whole sentence in? 

* * *

Tim tried to figure out why he was following her. Backup? That could be the reason. Lucy was feisty, but it wasn’t exactly safe for her and Psyduck to just go walking around down by the docks by themselves. For him, being partnerless again made him feel like he stuck out like a sore thumb in this city until he took a step back to look around. There were plenty of people without partners in Ryme but he couldn’t shake the feeling that people looked at him funny. Like they could see how he felt about Pokemon. 

Tim stuffed his hands in his jacket, keeping a small distance between him and Lucy. She’d said something about the arena where the underground matches had been held until recently, the Roundhouse, being abandoned. Then her words tumbled out so fast. There was something about a lab then she rushed down the street with Psyduck in tow without waiting for him. 

“What do you think?” 

He definitely was not listening to her rambling. In fact, he was far enough back he didn’t know she was even talking to him. “Oh-well…”

“How much do you think it would be?” She had moved on. If she realized he wasn’t listening, she didn’t let on and was off in her own world. Again. 

The docks were only slightly busier than the last time he’d been there, in the middle of the night with his father…no Pikachu. Both. Whatever. 

Stopping in front of the warehouse Gyarados tore through, the building was still in shambles. Police tape formed stripes through the gaping hole. 

“I guess the underground fights are back on in a new location, but I haven’t heard where yet.” Lucy was off again and he was following. Following and still not sure where he was going. Lucy was looking for something, or someone, and he just kicked at the ground, shuffled along as part of the ride. 

He trailed behind, preoccupied with what he would do next. His grandmother had just sent a care package with some of his clothes, some snacks and a little album. He hadn’t shown his father yet. Mostly it was pictures of him and his mom, and every time he looked at it he felt his heart rip open again. He didn’t blame his father anymore. Now he was content to learn about the man all over again. It was different than when he was a kid. He realized he didn’t really know much about his father at all. 

Lucy spotted something as they were exiting the docks and heading back toward the city proper. Psyduck waddled as fast as he could, having a hard time catching up. Tim turned onto the busy street and jogged to Psyduck, keeping him from getting trampled. 

Psyduck fretted, looking everywhere for his partner. “Hey, we’ll find her.” Tim could barely see her up ahead, lifting Psyduck to see her as well, and hoped that he would calm down. “You know how excited she gets,” he groaned. 

The crowd on the street parted enough for Psyduck to weasel his way out of Tim’s grip and off to Lucy. Letting out a sigh, he gave chase again, continuing to question why he was here when he felt so useless. 

As the crowd reformed, he lost sight of both Lucy and Psyduck, so as he paused on the sidewalk Tim considered texting Lucy and heading home. Not only did he feel useless, he had no clue what they were doing and all he wanted to do was hide away from the world again. At least until he figured out life. 

The crowd thinned, then parted again as a brunette girl in a black hoodie came barreling down the sidewalk. Yanking down the zipper, she slowed, looking for someone. Tim ignored her, letting her pass. He was busy contemplating his next steps in life. And with Lucy. 

Until he was dragged, by his jacket, to the closest wall. The girl that had just passed him shoved her wadded up hoodie into his stomach. Wrapping her hair up, she flashed a small apologetic smile before spinning him around so he trapped her against the wall. 

“Sorry,” she murmured, frantically scanning the street. Tim would have ran, but she held him to her. Two thugs chased people from the closest sandwich shop, bright red R blazoned on their jackets. “Shit.” Her eyes pleaded for a way off the street, a distraction. Tim braced himself with his free hand as he fell into the wall again. A tug pulled him, again. “Sorry.” She was desperate. Was she running from a Team? He didn’t have time to think anything through. Barely even time to look her in the eye, she was on her tiptoes, wrapping her hands around his neck and pulling him into a kiss. 

The only conclusion Tim could come to was that every single woman in this city was crazy. Something about this city made them lose all sanity. 

Keeping him close, literally the longest kiss of his life, both Team grunts made their way past without so much as a glance at the couple making out. 

Tim came to his sense and pulled back enough to break the kiss. She had a different idea. It felt like the floor fell from underneath them. He just may be a magnet for crazy women, but this kiss was different. He let himself fall back into her embrace. 

Seconds passed. Out of breath, she pushed him back, scanned the street and darted off with one final, “Sorry about that.” 

Dumbfounded, Tim stood there holding her hoodie. “Wait.” He grabbed her hand before she was too far, and chaos ensued. Lucy and Psyduck had backtracked to them and, considering the way she seethed at them, had seen the entire kiss. One of the Team Rocket grunts she’d been avoiding saw her when she’d turned back around. She would have been home free if not for Lucy and pausing to grab her hoodie. 

“Damn it.” Throwing her weight back into Tim, she hurled them both into an alleyway with Lucy in pursuit. 

“I get it now. Was I not pretty enough? Tall enough?” Lucy started screaming, echoing down the alley. Tim was confused. Mystery girl was barely an inch taller than Lucy. Lucy practically ignored him. He couldn’t do anything right. 

“I-I don’t think this is the time.” Tim backed further into the alley as mystery girl readied herself. When the first black jacket turned into the alley, her arm wrapped around his, disarming him swiftly before her knee and his nose connected. Unfortunately, his partner, a Sandshrew, swiped at her furiously, cutting up her arm. She dashed from the alley again, letting the Grunt give chase. His partner, a beastly Pidgeotto, dive bombed toward the street after the girl. 

“Gees, Tim! Are you even listening to me?” 

Was she even paying attention to what the hell was going on? Team Rocket grunts were literally attacking a girl right in front of them. “This is insane! We got to get out of here.” Tim noted Psyduck wobbling dangerously, fearing he would unleash his explosive headache in the middle of the city as he forced Lucy to see her own partner. 

“Right.” Bending to comfort him, “It’s ok. That crazy lady’s gone.” 

Tim pointed ahead. “Yeah, the guy that attacked her and his Sandshrew aren’t.” 

The red R glinted in the bright noon sun at them. The bleeding from his nose held at bay with his sleeve. Waving at them in the alley, his Sandshrew closed in on them and Psyduck went back to furiously squealing and swaying. 

Pidgeotto circled a few times above the alley as something jumped down flights of stairs, ringing the metal with each landing. Two stories above them, the girl jumped over the railing and Pidgeotto took a dive to her. She was panting hard and looked like everything hurt, but she rammed into the black jacket again. Sandshrew followed the intended prey instead of the three in the alley. 

Pidgeotto aimed for the two fighting. The girl rolled him into the street, causing Pidgeotto and Sandshrew to collide. Just enough of a distraction for Tim to grab Lucy and scoop up Psyduck and get the hell out of there.

* * *

“Why were we even there?” Tim cried out when they were clear of the alley and the flying fists. 

“Did you listen to any of the voicemails I left for you? Any of them?” The incredulity on his face was her answer. “After the whole fiasco with MewTwo and creating the catalyst to cause merging of humans and Pokemon, other scientists have been kidnapped by some Team. They’re testing Pokemon, experimenting on them. Rumors are new drugs are flooding the streets made from Pokemon!” 

Insane. This is what insanity felt like. He was repeating his first meeting with Lucy but under even more insane circumstances. 

“And you want me to do what exactly?” 

“I was trying to find someone who was selling the drugs.” No, she’d gone mad and was dragging him into it all over again. 

“What did you expect me to do?” 

Lucy shrugged. Her golden hair was curled nicely, she’d put a lot of effort into her makeup and clothes. She was wearing something fitted and trendy. Trying not to look too young, which she complained, at length, she was always called. He’d almost consider this a date. Except for the running around trying to buy drugs part. And her ignoring him. And her talking about nothing but work. 

And he had no words. Sure, he should have listened to the voicemails. But this was absolutely crazy. He just wanted a normal day. A normal date. Things with Lucy were either zero or 120%. No in between. 

Shaking his head, Tim wandered off toward home, Lucy left to chase behind. 

* * *

Grinding her knee into the guy’s back, she cursed that she only caught one. 

“You’re under arrest.” She spat at him as she slipped a zip tie over his hands. 

“Bitch! You’re dead!” 

She sat on his back as she rifled through his pockets. Nothing! The other one had the merchandise on him. Damn! She looked over at Sandshrew and Pidgeotto, both still out cold from the head on collision. Backup was nearly there, lights flashing up the street. At least she wasn’t completely empty handed today. 

But she needed some patching up. 


	2. Who is that crazy girl coming through the window?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally getting the second chapter, which ended up much longer than the first version, up. Tons of editing and rewriting so I am reposting this an updated date. I plan to get the next chapter of the sequel up as well. 
> 
> I changed my mind. The chapter rewrites are so extensive and I feel like I am broadening the story so much I deleted the original versions of the chapters and will just repost with updated dates. If you really want to see the old version I kept it on Wattpad.

Lucy sulked the entire way back to Detective Goodman’s home office. The first time they’d seen each other all week, and it was nothing but awkward. He’d kept his hopes up that maybe she wanted to have a proper date, dinner or go dancing, and that while they were out on her mission she’d ask him. 

Tim wasn’t looking for adventure in life, just happiness. Lucy, on the other hand, thrived on thrill seeking as she geared up her next big story. He just wanted a sense of fulfillment, maybe. Things really started looking up with his dad back. And still, his life seemed to fall back into a slump and he couldn’t dig his way back out. 

Ignoring the Treecko and sleeping owner of the building, Tim trudged up the stairs. 

Lucy and Psyduck kept following. A stream of thought coming from her nonstop. Apologies, her story, Psyduck. It was a lot to follow and he only half listened. When he was listening she never seemed to ask him anything. Just kept going. He got that she wanted him to notice her. Oh, he noticed her. She really didn’t need to worry about that. Lucy Stevens was a hard woman to miss. 

“It’s a big story. My sources,” she’d circled back to her mysterious sources when he’d stopped listening again, “think some scientists, from the lab we visited, were never accounted for after MewTwo escaped. As in, someone kidnapped them. And now there’s this whole new Team presence that the city has never really had to deal with.” When Tim turned at the door to acknowledge her she straightened a curl, let it bounce back and grinned. Pretty and infuriating. The entire situation exhausted him. Exasperated, Tim turned back around and went to his dad’s office.  
When they walked in Harry and Pikachu paced the office past one another reading interview transcripts Tim had typed up that morning. Not the work he had thought he’d do in his early 20s, but it kept his mind off being jobless. If only for a brief time each day. 

Lucy gave a tiny wave to Harry then tried to get Tim’s attention one last time, “I just thought we could…” 

They were several stories up, but the window behind Harry’s desk opened. Harry and Pikachu barely seemed to notice. 

“Dad?” His dad and Pikachu must have heard him, they moved some files just before the mystery person, a girl, stepped on them. Other than that, they seemed perfectly comfortable with a strange woman climbing in through a fire escape. 

Lucy recognized the girl first. “Never mind, I can take care of the story on my own.” And she gave Tim a hard shove, “You can go back to your girlfriend.” 

Harry stared at Lucy as she stomped out of the apartment. Purposely stomping louder in the hallway so as to be heard all the way out of the building. There was so much Tim did not understand. 

Also, so much he wanted to ignore. Women needed an instruction manual. Specific women. All women. Tim needed a much deeper understanding of Lucy and the mystery woman climbing through the window but generally he needed a good primer so he didn’t come off as so much of an idiot. 

The only thing Tim could conclude: Every single woman in this city was a lunatic. 

“Mr. G? You here? Yoshida said you were back.” Blood smeared her entire arm as she stripped off the dirt-stained hoodie off again. She blotted her arm with it trying to stymie the slow seeping blood. A few seconds passed until she realized she wasn’t just talking to Harry. “Oh. Oh.” Her face fell. “Oops.” 

“Ali.” Harry knew the insane woman. Maybe it was genetic that they attracted crazy women. “Oh, look, you need the medical kit.” Harry tossed the papers on his desk, he rummaged around in the bottom drawer for the small medical kit. “Didn’t go to the hospital, huh?” 

She buried her shock under a false confidence, “For this minor scratch?” Minor scratch? It ran the length of her arm, jagged edges of flesh curled up. He could barely stomach looking at it. 

“How’s your savings account doing?” Harry goaded her as he sprayed antiseptic on the wound. She ground down on a knuckle while Harry cleaned the wounds. They weren’t as deep as he’d thought but looked nasty and bled a lot. 

“How’s yours?” She countered. 

“Touché.” Remembering his son standing in the room, “Ali, this is Tim.” 

“Oh. Wow, um,” slapping pieces of gauze around the wound and holding them steady, she reached out to shake his hand with her own bloody, dirty hand. “Yeah, um we met. I’m so sorry.” 

Looking between Tim and Ali, Harry cautiously put tape across the gauze in several locations to keep it still. 

Tim sighed. “Hi.” He shook his head and meandered off to his room. He was just done with the day. Done with psychotic women. Just…done.

Following quickly, “I’m really sorry. Seriously, I had no idea you had a girlfriend. You were alone and…” 

“And you thought it was a good idea…” Tim stopped when he saw his dad looking in curiously. “I don’t have a girlfriend.” 

“O-kay.”

* * *

Ali had been on assignment for weeks. Undercover with no access to any of her contacts. Mr. G knew, and he’d taken care of things for her while she was away. Until he didn’t. Because he would get himself in trouble when she was in a deep cover operation. It shocked her he even got himself out of it without her help. Overall he didn’t look much worse for the wear and she’d missed something freaking huge if his son had actually, finally, come to Ryme.

His apartment thought, that was exactly as she expected after weeks away. Takeout containers spilled out of the wastebaskets. She didn’t want to look in the fridge, but she did. Ketchup, expired mayo and drops left in a creamer bottle. And the whole apartment reeked. The undeniable scent of single men living in filth and obscene amounts of coffee. 

Harry had the good sense to go for his jacket and attempt to get out of dodge. Between his son’s foul mood and the state of the apartment, he was in for a lot of yelling. 

“Oh, no you don’t!” Ali yanked him back into the office, Pikachu following obediently, even jumping for attention from her. “Take out! Really! Have you even gone to a grocery store since I went on assignment? And after your son finally comes here? Have you seriously been subjecting him to all this?” Jumping up, Harry was far more than a head above her, she looped her arm around Harry’s neck and pulled him down, “That fridge is empty!” Harry tried to wrestle his way out, but she was stronger. “Oh, my god!“ The epiphany hit her hard. “Your son is here. Like actually here.” She was a huge mess, she’d kissed him on the street, he was currently living in the Goodman squalor and eating crap. “I need a clean shirt!” Ali dropped Harry in a heap at her feet. How had this man not left already? She didn’t last a single night in Harry’s crap-hole apartment. Harry had spent too many years dreaming of this. What if he screwed it all up? What if she helped screw it up? 

Harry shrugged off the jacket, knowing he wouldn’t be allowed out the door. She would literally hunt him down, tackle him in the street. Even drag him to the police station, throw him in holding until he agreed to actually clean his apartment. Pikachu would side with her. 

“Let me guess, you haven’t done laundry since I went undercover either.” She inspected the office. It looked normal. Papers littering every flat surface. Not all of them Harry’s. Newspapers want ads marked and piled on an end table. “That means you probably don’t have a shirt I can borrow.” Harry shrugged at her in that annoying way. Every fact she could recall about Harry’s son was from his childhood. Maybe not being raised by Harry meant he turned out nothing like Harry. Taking a risk she asked Tim at his door, “Can I borrow a shirt from you?” He didn’t answer right away and she could feel her face getting hot just like her hot mess of a life. 

She opened his closet as he sighed, “Would me saying no make a difference?” 

* * *

“Yes.” Tim kept staring at her from his bed, lamenting the amount of crazy that endlessly followed him. “But people don’t appreciate seeing strangers on the street in blood-soaked clothes, so…please?”

She paused long enough to look at him for approval. Tim gestured to the closet. Falling back to lie on his bed, he covered his face with a pillow. He could hear clothes rustling. He peaked then quickly covered his face again when he saw her shirking off the tank top. It was all a blur, but he saw black ink all along her back and a bright pink strap of her bra. She snapped the collar of one of his dress shirts, a similar shirt to the one he had been wearing the day he’d heard his dad had gone missing. His dad had kindly helped him get a few things when he stayed in Ryme. “Really,” the bed bounced when she jumped next to him, finishing buttoning the shirt, “I apologize for before.” 

Daring a look, he threw the pillow back to the headboard. “It’s fine. I’ll figure it out.” 

“Do…you want me to talk to her? I mean, I can explain.” The more she talked, the more she slowed down. “That probably won’t work well. But…I mean…she can hate me. That’s fine. If it will help you two.” 

Sure. Lucy hating this random girl would work well. Based on her intimate knowledge of his dad, Tim could never bring Lucy to his dad’s place again. “No. But thanks.” 

“Ok. Well, if you need any help with that situation, let me know.” He couldn’t really stay mad at this stranger. For one, she stopped long enough to actually ask him questions and make sure he was ok. She listened to him. Tying her hair high in a messy bun, she asked, “Do you want dinner? Wait, lunch? Wait,” grease smudged his clock as she grabbed it to check the time. She was working through something as she counted her fingers, “dinner?” 

“No?” He still didn’t know what was going on. 

“Right.” But she mimicked Lucy’s listening skills so very well. “Ok, dinner it is. Mr. G! Put that damn phone down, I’m making dinner!” Her declaration was so loud his dad dropped whatever he’d been doing. Literally. Metal and wood clattered and crashed. Probably his phone. She ignored whatever mess his dad had just made and asked, “He still taking his meds?” 

“What medication?” 

“The cholesterol medication. Ooh,” she growled and hopped up and out of his room. Tim curiously followed her to the bathroom. She dug in the cabinet before shouting, “Mr. G! Have you been taking your Atorvastatin?” 

“Yeah!” 

“You don’t need a refill?” Muttering under her breath, “Dumbass,” she slammed the mirror shut so she could shake an empty pill bottle. 

“Wow,” he said after she was out of earshot. His dad yelped, and plastic hit the wall. 

“Think you need a refill! Oh, you’re such a liar!”

Two weeks living here in Ryme and he wasn’t sure he knew anything new about his father. 

Ali bounded back down the hallway and into Harry’s room. She helped herself to Harry’s drawers, taking out a pair of glasses with no lenses. Then a pair of boots hidden in the back of the closet in the office. Harry sat at his desk ignoring the mess he’d made hiding behind whatever he could find until Pikachu perched on the desk taking papers as he ‘read’ them. A good shove of his feet and a glare and Harry went back to cleaning the office and kitchen and she was out the front door. 

Tim stood in the hallway near their rooms and watched her go. 

“So, I won’t come out to the city and you…what? Replace me?” 

“It’s not like that.” Rubbing his eyes, it looked like Harry felt the weight of his consequences coming to light. He pushed his glasses up, absently scratching Pikachu near his ear. Tim’s mouth hung open,

“Oh my god, not like that Tim! You two are practically the same age! After I came to Ryme, I found her. Homeless. On the streets near here. Alone except for her partner. She had nothing, no one. She was…no one can replace you, Tim, you know that. But she needed help. I-” Harry and Pikachu stared back at the door where she’d just been. “I’m not helping here. Maybe you should just talk to her.”   
She had extra shoes in the office. Knew his father’s manic organization method that made zero sense. Refilled his medications. Allegedly cooked or grocery shopped for him. What did he know? That his father was a detective. Although, to be fair, whose fault was that. 

His father interrupted him, “Or follow her.” Pikachu narrowed his eyes, faint electrical crackling starting to fill the air. 

“Follow her?”

“Yeah.” Harry looked distracted, worried even. The file he held creased in his hand. His dad was looking over it at some object far off. “Not sure I trust her with my pills. Not after the garbage being filled with take out again. Might end up in a ditch after she swaps out my pills for something with a poison attack…go! You need to go!” Harry scrambled out of the kitchen, hustling Tim toward the door.

“I think I might let her.” 

“First you threaten to make me into a lamp…”

“Yes.” He tried to dig his heels in. They slipped on the wood floor. He almost wiped out by a stray piece of paper.

“She will throw me into the ocean and let me be Sharpedo food!” 

“Might let her do that too.” 

“GO!” His shoulder dug in right between Tim’s shoulder blades. “She’s making a good head start to the market a few blocks over.” 

“Better not be setting me up. She’s the first woman I’ve met in a while that hasn’t yelled at me.” 

“Give her time. Also, you’ll probably never see that shirt again.” 

“If she throws you in the ocean, I’m ok with that.” 

Harry held the door open for Tim, looking up at the floor above them through the stairwell. Sometimes they could see neighbors milling around looking to overhear some juicy gossip or rob a stranger.

“Whatever happened earlier, I’m sure she was just on assignment. She’s RCPD. Undercover investigator. Just…you didn’t hear that from me.” 

“Will she throw you into the ocean for that too?” 

“Don’t tell her.” 

“I’m telling her.” 

* * *

Tim rushed down the stairs and out to the street. The only market he remembered in walking distance was three blocks away. She’d set a brisk pace that he had to jog to catch up. Neon signs lit up the evening, shining more light than the street lamps for the pedestrians. Rush hour horns wailed in the distance. 

Ali carelessly walked in the street. Almost the same age? The more he tried to make sense of her the more of a paradox she became. Ali looked too young to be a cop. She could easily pass for a teenager, as in a younger teen, which he guessed made her ideal for undercover work. But they were both adults. Her, a far more successful adult than him. How did she have her life so put together that she could take care of his father too? 

His shirt fit her well, though it looked shorter on her than him which made no sense. She was much shorter than him. As he caught up Tim saw she’d tied it in front to fit around her waist better. 

“Hey.” With the glasses and clean shirt, she’d transformed into a rather adorable yet nerdy girl. He remembered those kinds of girls from school. One of the many kinds that never gave him the time of day. She almost didn’t resemble the girl that had snatched and kissed him earlier. 

“You’re terrible at tailing people.” 

A bike came whistling past them. Grabbing her arm, Tim pulled her onto the sidewalk, through the throngs of people filing past on their way home from work. A quick twist and she’d freed herself again and kept going. 

“Not trying to…tail you?” Not like he was trying to hide coming to help her. 

“Uh-huh.” She wove through foot traffic with ease. Avoiding Pokemon, large and small. People, those she’d run into with a stern face that warned them off saying anything. 

“I’m not.” 

She turned on him in the middle of the people. The passers grumbled loudly at having an obstacle to avoid. “Mr. G thinks I’m going to switch out his meds with Poison Powder or something stupid like that, doesn’t he?” 

His brain screamed yes, but he tried to say, “No.”

“Oh my god, you can’t lie either.” He couldn’t. That was the truth. “That’s adorable!” Tim just wanted to go to bed. Be done with this insane day. “Tell me you’re not a detective. Because that whole thing will get you killed.” He gaped at her. A question dangled right at the tip of his tongue. She knew and huffed, “Legendaries, just ask it already.”   
Where to begin, though? People were looking, they were starting to make a scene. He just wanted to get to the market, so he turned her around and started them back down the street before asking,

“Explain to me in what world it is not crazy to just stop a stranger and kiss them?” It was just weird. It was one of many things that bothered him, and he desperately needed some sense in his life. A single person that made sense. Bonus points if it was a woman!

With a snort she dipped under his arm, twisting it as she went. “Oh, he told you something! What did he tell you?” Completely avoiding his question. 

“Nothing!” 

“Yeah,” she grumbled, then released his hand. Her eyes narrowed dangerously, boring into the deepest parts of him, making him try to actively not think about what his dad told him. That only brought it to the forefront of his thoughts. “Oh, he told you where I work, didn’t he?” God, she was a mind reader. “He tell you anything else?” 

“No!” 

“Mm-hmm. Your dad is actually terrible at keeping secrets for a detective. Must be genetic.” Tim agreed, nodding furiously in the hopes it satisfied her. After a few deep breaths the tension she’d been clutching to released. “Look, I needed a distraction.” She turned to walk away when he yanked her out of the way of a passing Pancham being chased by his Pangoro parents. But he’d pulled her too hard. Momentum carried her back into him. Adjusting her glasses, she glared up at him, “Really?” Tim turned her to the family. She rolled her eyes and gave a sheepish, “Sorry.” Ali made her way down the street more carefully, avoiding people and Pokemon deftly. She didn’t say anything to him until they were waiting for a walk signal to say, “Intimate physical contact makes people uncomfortable. Therefore, when being chased by someone intimate contact keeps them from making eye contact or from looking at their faces. It was a diversion for me. Those Rocket grunts didn’t see me. Until-”   
“Oh, that was my fault you left your hoodie with me? I was just trying to return it.” She rolled her eyes again and stalked off just as the signal changed. “Every. Single. Woman. All crazy.” But crazy or not, he’d gotten the single thing he’d been looking for. A straight answer. Nothing to interpret. Nothing to wonder about, except the circumstances that led to her running from whoever the Rocket grunts were. He accepted the fact that if she was undercover, she’d never tell him why she was mixed up with Team Rocket. 

He’d thought he’d whispered his last comment until he met up with Ali and she responded, “If I had known about your girlfriend-”

“Don’t call her my girlfriend.” 

“Ok.” She shrugged at him, already a storefront away from him. 

Tim followed again. Was he was always chasing someone? “I don’t know what she is.” 

“Ok.” 

Without another word, she made her way to the market. For the first time that day, Tim followed at a distance but it wasn’t uncomfortable. She just walked, not talking and letting him have space. Not even in a rush, just kept a steady pace. 

Tim realized as she walked into the market that she was the first person, besides himself, that he’d seen without a partner. His dad said she’d come to Ryme with a partner. 

* * *

Ali nestled a small shopping basket in the crook of her arm. If Tim wouldn’t keep up, she wouldn’t wait. Her first stop: the pharmacy for Mr. G’s medication. Tim kept his distance, hands shoved in his pockets as he watched. After a silent run through the produce section Ali couldn’t take it any longer and asked, “Any allergies?” 

“What?” 

With the basket held high she tried, “Am I going to be making a trip to the hospital with you if I cook any of this?” 

He finally dared to come closer to her, giving the basket a rather dubious look. Score another point for her crappy attitude driving people away. “What is this?” 

“A leek.” He still looked confused so she added, “They’re part of the onion family. I think. More mild.” Throwing it back in the basket, she assumed that meant he would not die from her cooking. Finally, he didn’t keep so far back, even grabbing a few fruits and vegetables to add to the basket.

At the meat counter she noticed she was alone again. Choosing cuts of meat, she waited for them to be wrapped and took a cursory glance around her looking for all the normal things she looked for.

Exits, patrons, weapons. Gods, she felt naked without her weapon. Like an idiot, she’d not taken any to the docks. Just one of many mistakes she’d made already that she tried very hard not to focus on. 

Tim loitered behind her, shifting uncomfortably. Mirroring not only what she was doing, waiting for the meat, but how she felt. He drummed on his leg. She drummed the counter. Then his eyes went down her back. Near her…

“You just going to stand there staring?” Ali pointed to the mirror above the meat counter where she could clearly see him bending to make out her tattoo. “It’s a little creepy.” 

He mumbled an apology as she was accepting a package of meat and then pointing to more. Sidling up next to her, he looked apologetic. 

Another white paper-wrapped package of meat landed in her basket. “Thank you for lending me the shirt.” Tugging at the bottom, she felt the need to cover her tattoos again. “Look, I know what you are probably thinking. I, uh,” she’d slept in that bed more times than he had, “I was never some kind of replacement for you.” He tried to counter, but it was futile. “Your dad told me all about you.” 

Slowly, she made off to the aisles to pick up a few more items and keep her mouth shut and stop herself from screwing up again. 

“What kind of stuff did he tell you?” 

That was an interesting question. “Probably way more than you would want me to know.” Scrutinizing the shelves, Ali slowed down to pick out rice, maybe some sauce. He wasn’t what she’d imagined.

All she’d really seen were pictures of him as a child. Actually, he still looked like that child in the pictures. Lanky and tall. Almost the same haircut too. “I’m sorry about your mom. I mean, I know-” 

“Thanks.” Tim took the bag of rice that would just weigh down the basket, digging it into her arm more.

She didn’t need to turn to see that he was avoiding her. Purposely avoiding her. Like she’d screwed up again after bringing up his mom. How dumb could she be? 

“Sorry.” 

She took another peek, and he was still doing everything he could to avoid her. 

Then he sucked on his lip. Nervous and tense. Not the angry or depressed reactions she’d expect when someone brought up a topic that could still be sensitive.

“Oh. No. No, he told you more! What did he tell you?” That was absolutely the face of a man-boy hiding something. 

“Nothing!” 

“He told you something else about me.” 

“No, he didn’t.” 

All she’d mentioned was his mom. And that his dad told her all about him and…

“Oh my gods, he told you about when I was homeless?” 

“How do you know he didn’t tell me about…your…”

“He knows nothing about my family because I never told him!” 

And they were back to making a scene, only this time there were plenty of people around that knew her. 

He fumbled for the right words, for anything and all he could come up with was, “I didn’t even say anything!”

“You didn’t have to! Gods!” She took back the bag of rice. That was easy enough to carry, she didn’t need help. “People always look sorry for me when they find out. I don’t need pity!” 

* * *

There were so many conflicting emotions Tim had to deal with. So far there was: confusion coupled with shock that she just guessed what Harry had told him; jealousy that she’d had years with his dad, years he didn’t have; and sympathy for her over whatever led her to living on the street. 

Together they all piled on to the misery he’d been carrying around. He’d chosen to stay in Leaventown. No one else was really at fault but him for that. But still, his dad had acted like a dad to someone else. He’d love to hate her for it but she was sweet, ready to take the fall with Lucy and literally took care of his father. 

Pity. Now that was an emotion he was familiar with. From other people. The boy who’s dad left. The boy who’s mom got cancer. The boy who didn’t go on his journey. The boy who’s mom died. There was a lot of pity people heaped on him, for years. 

She’d walked off to the registers, leaving him to wallow in misery. Food paid for, prescription picked up, she lugged the bags down the sidewalk. Their pace back to the apartment much slower.

“I-” Tim would start then think better of it and stop again. After several attempts he said, “I know you weren’t a replacement.” 

“He’s pretty useless without you and your mom.” He could see that. Really. They hadn’t had groceries in the apartment since he’d moved in. He hadn’t eaten a home cooked meal since that last morning with his Gram. And then there was all the work he dumped on Tim. 

“And yet he came here without us.”

Looking at her again and trying to forget about his own miserable life, he took a good long look at Ali. He thought she belonged in the cute funky glasses and slightly oversized shirt. Pretty, in a very different way than Lucy. No fancy curls. Minimal, if any, make up. Cargo pants and boots. 

He snapped himself back to reality. There was no need for him to be checking out another girl when he couldn’t even talk to the girl that went on a date with him. Pseudo-date. 

“I’m actually really happy you’re here now. I thought you’d never come see your dad.” At the first stoplight Tim took a bag, the one with the rice. Not because she was having any trouble with it. It just felt right to take it and share the load. Her remaining bags swayed as she walked, bumping into her shins every so often. “He’s so happy. Like, really.” 

“You were in the apartment for, like, three minutes.” People say that when you’re really happy you glow, which is silly. He’d never seen anyone glow before, not even pregnant women. He supposed there was a shift in his dad. Maybe. Tim wouldn’t really know but he agreed, “Yeah, I know.” 

“You miss Leaventown?” Tim stopped, sure he had never told anyone in Ryme where he was from. “What?” 

“It’s the first time I have really been anywhere else.” 

“You’re planning to stay.” He gave her a shake of his head. How could she keep guessing things like this? “I’m an investigator. I notice things.”

Mind reader. She was a psychic in disguise. “I guess.” 

“Not been going well? Finding a job? Or is this…? Sorry. I need to keep my mouth shut.” 

Tim stopped her at the door of the apartment, taking a second bag from her. “It’s ok.” 

“I just,” she took the bag back, “I really don’t want to piss you off. It’s my specialty but to your dad you are the most important thing to him in this whole world. I should know. But-ah…I just…he’s the only person I have now.” The absence of her partner felt more pronounced as a couple and their matching Growlithes passed them across the street. “I can’t lose the only family I have, even if he’s not my family. But I don’t want to impose on you and your dad. He’s your…”

“You’re good at pissing people off? No.” She tried to hide a relaxed grin behind pushing her fake glasses up her nose. Taking back the bag one last time, Tim held the door open for her. “You’re not. You can come by whenever. And don’t worry about Lucy.” Ali released a breath. It felt good to get one guess right with her. Trying to juggle both bags he searched for keys. Ali grabbed his arm and held up her own key. “Why did you enter through the window?” 

“Faster.” 

“Ok.” That seemed like a strange answer. “Why didn’t you go to the hospital?” It was incredible, getting real, straight to the point answers. 

“I never do when I’m undercover. Has nothing to do with money. Someone in a gang would never just run to the hospital to get patched up.” 

* * *

Ali tossed the window glasses at Harry. 

“I could have had a full stomach by now,” he complained while tucking the glasses away in the bottom of a desk drawer. 

Pikachu trotted to Ali to climb her leg and rest on her head. Long brown hair fell messily from the bun as while she busied herself. It amazed him she could balance Pikachu on her head like that and work. Tim left the food with her. He stacked the want ads again, glancing at the top one. Part-time assistant at some agency. Something he wouldn’t care about. Ads for nannying. He wasn’t going to try watching kids. Ads for trainers to work with sick Pokemon. Orderly at the hospital, human or Pokemon. 

He folded and dumped them in the waste bin. He could start new tomorrow. 

His dad’s detective movie drowned out most of the noise Ali made putting away groceries or his dad working. Before he knew it, Tim looked over and she’d put all the groceries away something steamed. Ali quietly made her way to the window. 

“See you later, Mr. G.” She hopped out the window, “Same as usual.” 

“Let it cool down ten minutes after it beeps.” Harry didn’t even look away from his computer screen. They could hear her steps clang down the ladders, “You ever going to call me Harry?” 

“No.” 

Tim stared at his phone. Lucy hadn’t called or texted since she stormed out. Any explanation he could give her other than maybe the strange girl from the street was not as crazy as they thought would all sound fake. Forced. Or like a lie. Lucy wouldn’t believe it. No girl would. 

Tim came back to reality as the pot beeped loudly. Harry pulled out some plates and forks, “By now I’d be done eating and back to work. Plus we’re going to have to do dishes tonight.” 

Spice and steam vented out the top of the cooker. The smell took Tim back to his childhood. A yellow rice and tender, juicy meat and peas. Simple dinner. Something they had on weeknights. Something his mom made. 

He walked over to the clean kitchen. It even smelled clean. No dishes in the sink. All the food neatly stored away. “When’d she do all this?”   
Pikachu took his small bowl from Harry, and happily gobbled down while it still steamed. 

Around a mouthful of food Harry asked, “Got a lot on your mind?”  
Lucy. Docks. Teams and new drugs being peddled on the street. Job. Ali. He thought it was perfectly normal that he was a little distracted. And that smell. “How?”  
Harry piled food haphazardly on Tim’s plate, a far cry from the beautifully plated food on tv or at a restaurant. “This?” Shoveling a few scoops of rice in his mouth, Harry savored the taste and said,

“She’s always known a lot of different region cuisines. Only took a few tries to get it right.” 

It was uncanny. This, right here, was his childhood in a pot. It was all perfect. All three of them sat happily at the breakfast bar until they scraped the plates clean. His dad hadn’t even grabbed the pictures or transcripts he’d been reading to work while he ate. 

Guilty about not helping Ali put away groceries or finish washing their dishes, Tim took his dad and Pikachu’s plates. As the water filled the sink, the spicy smell of the rice still lingering in the apartment, Tim asked, “Does she really work in the Ryme City Police Department?”

“Narcotics division. But when I talked to Hide last, she was on some new task force.” Harry said sleepily. A full stomach and working such strange hours, Tim wasn’t sure when his dad slept other than catching him nap here and there. 

“Where is she from?” 

“Kanto region.” 

Tim expected more, a town or maybe something else, but Pikachu carried over some pictures and was in the process of lining them up along the counter.

Pikachu made a bid for more food now that his partner was distracted with work, hopping with increasing excitement with each “Pika!” 

“Where’s her partner?” 

Pikachu’s ears fell. Tim could swear he even looked like he would cry as a depressed, “Pikachu,” quivered from him. 

“Uh, yea. Yea. Cubone. Well, Marowak She still called him Cu. He died in the line of duty last year.”

“What?” 

Wow. It was an inevitable conclusion. Police officers with Pokemon partners were constantly put into dangerous situations. In Leaventown usually partners only fainted, able to live long lives, only dying of old age. Some never evolving to their final forms. The last death he remembered, human or Pokemon, had been a mudslide accident out in the hills when he was in high school.

“She looks fine but I don’t think she’s gotten over losing him. Ali puts on a strong facade.” He dragged the napkin across his chin, taking his time. He even set aside the pictures. “A lot of people think she got him killed in the field. Ali is not well liked in the department. Not that narcotics officers are always well liked to begin with. Nor undercover officers.” Something stuck in Harry’s throat. “I am glad she’s ok. I’m not sure anyone told her what happened though…” Harry stopped realizing how ungrateful he sounded sitting with his formerly estranged son about a random girl losing him. 

* * *

The television blared at Lucy. Her tiny apartment covered in stacks of paper. The current project, the new drug being touted by Rocket, covered her walls. Newspaper clippings, hospital reports, police records. Whatever she could get her hands on. It was all just staring at her and there were more dots to connect, but none of it mattered. 

Her thoughts kept turning back to her date with Tim. 

“I don’t know.” He’d said after, when she finally cornered him in Hi-Hat Cafe, “I just-there’s a lot going on and I…” 

He couldn’t get the words out. They had fun. She’d had fun. But he just closed back up and wouldn’t talk to her. Not that he was incredibly forthcoming with information when they’d first met, on the date or ever. 

But her stress didn’t end there. She’d had that singular massive story, but she was still young. Getting her name out there and trying to get big stories wasn’t easy, even with one under her belt. It helped get her noticed, but she was still thrown crap lists to write up and if she couldn’t deliver on another hugely breaking news story, she would still be there writing those stupid damn lists for the rest of her life. 

Psyduck waddled around her to hop onto the couch. He fluffed his feathers as he watched the documentary on river Pokemon he’d turned on.   
Lucy pulled out her phone. She should just apologize. She was probably overreacting. She was sure she was the only person Tim knew in this entire city. That girl was probably mental, didn’t have any social skills or something. Hell, she was climbing through a window. 

Scrolling through her phone book, Lucy tapped Mom. 

“Hey, Mom.” Her hair fell from the clips she’d kept it up with. The curls had fallen flat ages ago, the new shirt her mom had sent needed to get cleaned. 

“How is the current story going, honey? And did you have that second date yet?” 

Shit, she hadn’t mentioned what Tim had said. “It’s fine, mom. Fine. Making real headway on the story. Hopefully, you will see me on tv again soon.” _Avoid any more mentions of Tim._

“Honey,” her mother droned, “what happened?” 

“Nothing.” _Lie. Lie like your life depends on it._

Her mother knew when something was wrong. And this was something her mother had seen happen many times. “Love, you don’t need to try so hard. You need him to see you.”   
“Mom,” Lucy groaned. They’d spent time together and it was adrenaline fueled fights one after the other. He’d saved her. She wasn’t looking for that same feeling, but there was something missing.

Going after this next story, it was close to what she’d felt before. How she felt energized. Maybe that wasn’t the same for Tim. 

Either way, she was losing him and she really didn’t want to lose anyone or anything else. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and hopefully chapter 3 edits will not take so long. Camp nano really stopped my editing progress but I almost finished the sequel, Heart of Darkness.


	3. Oh, right. Aipom.

None of the numbers added up. How had his dad’s business worked when his books were such a mess? For heaven’s sake, it was basic math. He knew the few receipts he’d found weren’t all there was for the Hoffman case. For example, his father went to three nightclubs. Door fees and parking were supposed to be billed to the customer. He got receipts. Tim saw them the morning after, but now they were nowhere to be found. Plus, there were expenses for the extra flash drives, accessing the… whatever the hell the name of that database was that his dad didn’t have a subscription. 

The front door bounced off the wall, rattling threateningly. “Dad,” Tim called, “do you have any receipts for that last case? I am trying to finish the invoice.”

“Oh my gods, he has you doing the books?” Ali dropped a bag just inside the room, tossing her keys around. Snorting, “Good luck with that.” 

Tim flipped back a few pages and then forward, cursing. Ali bounced onto the couch, an arm's length away, with a triumphant smile. “Before your dad disappeared or whatever happened, I did the books. He’s such a mess.” Tim gave up the ledger to her after letting her hand hover for a breath. “This is where I stopped last. Still on the Hoffman case, right? This was the base price…oh, none of the receipts got logged?” She propped her feet on the coffee table, hole filled jeans stained with something dark and greasy. “You need to harass him to use the shoe box.”

“Shoe box?” 

“Yeah, to keep all his receipts, every day. Otherwise he just puts them wherever and they get lost.” Handing the ledger back, “Pretty sure he plays basketball with scraps of paper when no one is looking.”

“Pikachu usually wins.” Lugging his own bags in, Harry slammed the door into the wall even harder than Ali. Pikachu came scampering in, bounding straight for Ali’s lap where she bounced him on her knees like a small child. 

Tim shut the ledger with increasingly familiar anger due to a lack of details from his father, again. “Shoe box?” 

Harry fumbled his keys, dropping them a couple times among an array of plastic bags at his feet. 

Ali grinned wider and wider as Tim fumed. “I am loving this.” Arms wrapping Pikachu in a snuggly hug. “You get to piss off a whole other person with your…”

“Don’t.” Harry warned. 

“Don’t what?” She asked innocently. “Don’t help your own son keep your business afloat? Don’t keep doing extra work? Don’t?”

“Don’t keep talking.” With no help, Harry lugged all the bags to the kitchen. 

Tim reached out to tap Ali on the shoulder, rethinking it at the last second. He pulled back quickly to scratch his neck when she looked at him again. Instead, he said, “Please keep talking. I need all the help I can get.” 

“I’ll do one better,” she plopped Pikachu in his lap and heaved herself out of the depths of Harry’s ancient couch. She opened the closet door and a stack of newspapers tumbled out. 

“You’re cleaning that up,” Ali and his dad said simultaneously. 

“I’ll end up cleaning it up,” Tim muttered. He rubbed his face a few times, catching himself daydreaming of simpler times when he just had to worry about benign crap at Whimsmore. Avoiding coworkers. Avoiding social outings.

Ali needed to balance on the tips of her toes, fingers only scraping the edge of the box until Tim got up and grabbed the box for her. Straightening herself up, Ali stood in a fighting stance, “Hard as nails. That’s what you need to be with him. Embody Iron Head when dealing with your dad!” She gave him a playful punch to the shoulder. “Iron Head.” 

Taking the box back, Ali skipped to the couch. She flipped off the top of the box. “Let’s see, Hoffman. What date did that start? It was before my case…” They sorted the receipts together as if they’d done it together a hundred times. 

Passing receipts back and forth, they made a pile between them. Tim filled the silence between receipts with, “Do all cops wear grease covered tatters to work or is that just you?” 

“Sassy.” Swiping grime from her pants, she giggled and wiggled it close to Tim’s ear. “I would wear my finest blouse if it would get low life Team grunts to tell me where I could find their illegal operations. As it is, they prefer talking to their own grease monkeys.” 

Pushing her hovering finger away, “Do you even know what a blouse is?” 

“Do you?” She teased back. When they’d reached the bottom of the box she said, “Ok, this is not a surprise.” Ali finally admitted defeat and threw everything back in. 

A well of dread opened in his stomach. Not being able to complete the invoice wasn’t his fault. This happened long before Tim showed up in Ryme. Still, veins pounded behind his eyes. 

Ali seemed less worried. She searched around the office. “You didn’t throw everything out, did you?” 

He hadn’t. The first time he’d tried that Harry yelled that he needed to file those papers away. Tim let his father continue to paper hoard, but in designated locations. Ali locked on to something in the corner and hopped over the back of the couch. Harry’s wire “to file” bin, aka the garbage bin.

Marching right over to Harry, she ripped a bag out of his hands and replaced it with the can. “You! Sort.” 

Immediately his dad did what she’d ordered him to. Immediately. This power was incredible. Dangerous, maybe. But nonetheless, amazing.

With Harry sorting his garbage for what Tim needed, he noticed the bags. Grocery bags. In the weeks Tim had been in Ryme, his father had never gone grocery shopping. At least, not to his knowledge.

Sure, he stopped at a bodega here and there, sometimes even getting a few pieces of fruit, but generally he opted for the easier option of take out. Tim had made the trip a few times for necessities and a few easy foods to eat. Yogurt, fruit, chips. If he bought anything for a sandwich it disappeared within a day. 

Ali carried over the bag she’d brought in and started digging around in the drawers. Pikachu joined her, climbing up to her head again and chittering happily. 

“What is all this?” Tim peered inside her bag first, which held two large containers sealed tight. “You going to cook and run again?” 

“No.” Ali stopped. She closed the drawer with her hip. “No, uh-Tuesdays are reserved for having dinner…here.” 

“Oh.” He should have expected this. 

Her lips tightened at Harry. “You didn’t tell him?” 

Harry realized his error. Sorting slowed to an eventual halt, but he kept staring at the papers. “I didn’t think about it.” 

Ali rushed to put away what she’d taken out. “It’s fine. I can go. I can-um…”

“Stay.” Tim interrupted her. 

“No. Seriously.” She wiped her hands on her pants, smudging them with grease and cursed as she wiped them again on her shirt. “It would be weird, right?” 

He didn’t want to say it would be weird. Yes, it would be weird. Since he learned of her existence he tried hard not to think about the fact that his father had kind of replaced him. Sometimes it worked, he pushed the thoughts away and sometimes, like when he found the pressure cooker she’d used to make dinner a few nights ago, he felt a hollow grow inside him and the entire next day he’d get pissed at his dad for the smallest things. Then the guilt set in. The cycle continued.

“Yeah, ok. I’m just…”

“No,” Tim insisted. “Stay.” He leaned over the counter, blocking her from grabbing the bag she’d brought, “I don’t want to eat take out again.” 

After a few breaths she relaxed, “If it’s not weird.” 

Tim pulled back the plastic on a bag his dad had brought. “What’s weird is this.” Pulling the plastic down revealed a cut piece of fruit, he supposed. Spikes on the outer skin, giant yellowish-orange flesh. 

“Must have gotten it on sale.” Ali frowned at the fruit. “I’m not cooking that tonight.”

“You know what it is?”

“Yeah.” Instead of answering right away she looked in the next bag. “Jackfruit. Takes a while to roast. This,” she pulled out a pineapple, “I will use tonight. I guess.” 

Tim glanced back as his dad uncrumpling paper, “You bought a pineapple? To have with dinner?” 

Showing Tim the underside where a white coating covered the bottom, “Sale pineapple.” 

“Oh, even better.” 

Ali shrugged, “It’ll do.” She rummaged in the cabinet near her feet and produced a cutting board. Out of the drawer she pulled a cleaver, larger and more intimidating than the knives in the block on the counter. Pikachu sat contentedly, watching her size up the fruit and scalp off the green top. Tim flinched when it thudded into the cutting board. “What?”

“Just a terrifying experience with knives.” In that kitchen. With Pokemon and his dad. 

“Okay.” Pikachu didn’t even blink when she brought the cleaver down again, slicing off the side just as loudly. Tim did. She smiled warmly at first, then it cooled off when she looked over at Harry,

“You’re not the one that needs to be scared.” 

“I bought,” Harry flipped on his desk lamp to read a scrap of paper. The entire room flashed so bright they needed to shield their eyes, then utter darkness with only the glow of the neon signs on the side of the building to see by. 

“You paid your electric bill, right?” The cleaver thudded one more time into the cutting board. 

“That wasn’t a ‘you didn’t pay the bill flash of light’.” 

“No shit? Just checking. Wouldn’t put it past all those people you pissed off at the electric company…”

“We were working that case with the Electrode.” 

“He forgets to pay bills?” 

“Yeah, might want to take care of those too.” By the light on her phone Ali dumped the half-cut pineapple, cleaver and a kitchen towel in the bag. “Ugh, after dinner. We’re grilling.” 

* * *

“I am capable of carrying a bag. What do I look like?” 

“I didn’t say you couldn’t.” A grunt rumbled in the hallway. “I thought women liked it when guys offer to help.” 

“I guess some women.” That girl huffed and handed over the bag she’d been carrying, mumbling a halfhearted apology. 

From the shadows Lucy watched their feet shuffle up the stairs. What she’d seen of that mystery woman was a horrendous mess. All oil and dirt. Not even a shred of makeup. Annoyingly, she had naturally symmetrical features that didn’t really need makeup and made Lucy hate her more. 

As soon as their feet were out of sight Lucy moved up to the next landing. 

Psyduck tried to quack out a call to Tim, but she clamped his beak shut with a shh. 

That girl was apologizing again. She blew out a puff of air and said, “It was a day.”

Tim nodded, “Yeah?” 

“Yeah. I work with a bunch of assholes.” 

“Whoa. What about…?”

“You met Hide?” Lucy assumed Tim nodded. They’d already made it to the next landing and kept going up toward the roof. “Not Hide. He’s cool. Probably wouldn’t have a job if it weren’t for him.”

“Low blow to my dad.” 

“No, low blow was when he got me arrested…”

“Arrested?” His voice sounded strained, like he was grinding his teeth. 

“While working a case for him. Before I got in where I’m working now. You know what I mean.”

He knows what she means? Lucy bit her lip hard to keep tears from forming. 

“Maybe it was a mistake?” 

“Oh no. It was on purpose. I mean, he came up with it on the fly. Your dad’s not a ‘plan’ person.”

“Tim chuckled, That’s actually believable.” 

She didn’t need or want to hear anymore. Trotting down the stairs, Lucy stumbled at the next landing into someone. In her haze she couldn’t remember if she’d said or thought the apology.

“Lucy?” Detective Goodman asked from the floor. Pikachu had taken a tumble too. Psyduck waddled after Pikachu’s hat as it rolled down the stairs to the next landing. “Are you ok?”

There was no hiding the tears in her eyes, therefore no lying. “Just leaving.” 

No sounds came from the other apartments to cover _her_ and Tim talking, particularly when they heard her, “What the _fuck_ happened here?”

“Oh,” Detective Goodman frowned. “Lucy.” 

“Don’t bother.” 

“Just talk to him. Come on, we’re having dinner on the roof.”

Lucy felt her breath catch in her throat. She needed to leave before she started to cry in front of Tim’s dad. “I’ll see you around, Detective.” 

* * *

“Ok,” There was a lot for him to sort through since they’d left the apartment. He needed to slow down, “You work with…”

“A bunch of assholes.” As Ali slowed, so did he. They could see the roof access door and still took the stairs agonizingly slow. Harry stayed behind to 'take care of a few things’ by phone light, insisting they go on ahead. “Technical term.” 

They naturally stopped at the top of the stairs, Tim debated whether he should bother asking to elaborate, giving Ali time to ask, “Are you sure about dinner?” 

“What?”

“I can start the kebabs and you can tell Mr. G that I had to go in to the precinct. I shouldn’t be so surprised that he forgot to mention dinner. But if this is too freaky,” she rambled.

“No. I mean, yes.” The entire situation was weird. But asking her to leave, to abandon a tradition, seemed silly. Especially if it was just to save him from feeling uncomfortable. 

Having her there provided one distraction. He wouldn’t have to talk to his dad about anything remotely important. “It’s fine. So, you work with a bunch of assholes?” Any other day since his father walked out, he wouldn’t have had to ask this question. He thought he’d known the answer. The same answer most everyone else gave him. Anyone who walks out on their family is an asshole. “Do you think my dad is…” Immediately he knew asking was a mistake. 

Ali froze while fidgeting with her shirt. “No! Oh my gods, no.” She balled fabric in her fist. When she let go her shirt had damp uneven pleats. 

“But…you just said my dad got you arrested.”

They’d finally made it the last few feet to the roof door. Ali had a hand on the handle, holding herself back from opening the door. A few deep breaths. She spun on her heels, landing awkwardly against the door and tried to readjust herself while not looking awkward. And gave up. “I don’t think your dad is an asshole.” Her eyes darted around at him, the bag, the painted brick walls. She tried to look him in the eye once but couldn’t. He couldn’t quite hold eye contact either. “And I don’t think you are either.” She looked up with a crooked smile and returned to fidgeting with her hands. “I think it was all just… I promise you, your dad’s not an asshole.” 

“He got you arrested.” He got Tim arrested. God, was he good at getting people arrested. 

“Yeah. Ok, he got me arrested but that doesn’t make him an asshole.” Her eyes locked with his, “There was a good purpose to getting me arrested. And, I mean, it worked out. They expunged the arrest. And I still have my career. But he’s not a terrible person.” 

Invisible weights lifted off his chest. They’d been piling on since he was a child, rarely coming back off. Questioning why he’d stayed in Ryme was only the newest weight he’d added. 

“Did you talk to him?”

“I…it’s…complicated.” Ali didn’t say anything. Or wring her hands. He wasn’t sure what she was waiting for. “No commentary? No ‘you just need to’…”

“No. I’m listening.” Those weights lightened a little more. “Or willing to.” 

It had been a while since anyone stopped and listened to him. For so many years people told him what he should feel, should do. Any time he tried to counter they just insisted. Like Jack. Like Gram. Like Lucy. Talked at him. Not with him. Never expecting him to answer.

All his energy drained away as he slumped against the wall. Ali shook his arm, “Let’s make dinner. You don’t even have to, like, do anything.” She dropped his arm and hit the door handle. The door barely moved. Ali jammed her shoulder harder into the door, using all her weight and muscle to inch it open. “What the _fuck_ happened here?” 

His dad hadn’t bothered to tell her. Actually, he didn’t know if his dad remembered everything that happened. “Uh, Aipom.” 

It looked like no one had been to the roof since the last time he had, though he knew that probably wasn’t the case. Fencing panels that had once formed a pathway across the rooftops, most likely to keep people from the edges of the building, lay scattered. Someone had only moved them just enough to close the roof access door again with no care for how that would affect anyone who needed to use the roof access. 

“Aipom are docile! Not like fucking Primeape.” 

Ali gave another heave, and the gap widened just enough for them both to fit through. Kicking panels out of her way, Tim helped her heave a few upright so they could open and close the door. The entire roof was a disaster zone mostly because of the fence panels. Tar paper, or whatever the rooftop covering was, bunched and rolled and now torn in pieces too, exposing the plywood underneath. Jammed under the door, Ali kicked the paper as she tried to close the door again. All while continuing to swear. He’d never met someone who cursed as much as her. 

“Hope it’s still here.” 

“Why are we up here?” Tim tossed another panel to the side. 

“I keep a grill up here.” She had to keep kicking at scrap just to get any where on the roof. 

He’d never surveyed the damage before. The Aipom had broken a few neon signs, visible from the street, all fixed within a week. But here, he hadn’t realized how much damage they’d caused. Crushed an air conditioner unit. Bricks lay broken as tripping hazards with the discarded phone and electrical wires they’d torn down. 

Circling around the staircase they’d just come up, Tim spotted a metal box and grate. Legs off to the side. It had been out of the path of the Aipom chase but still didn’t look like it had fared well. 

Ali joined him. “At least it’s still here.” It only took a few snaps to get the grill back together. She hauled it off to the other side of the roof. “I guess I lied a little. Do you want to start the coals or find the chairs?” 

Finding the chairs would require wading through debris. But he looked dubiously at the grill. Years ago his Gram broke down and bought a propane grill. One click and it was lit. 

She crossed her arms when Tim took the bag of charcoal next to where they’d pulled the grill. He looked at the bag, then back to her. 

“You don’t know how?” Ali suppressed a snarky smile and bumped him with her hip, “Go find the chairs. There’s an old milk crate too for a table.” And she went to work neatly stacking the briquettes in a pyramid shape. 

Pikachu came racing through the roof access door. “Hey lil’ Pika pika!” He’d climbed halfway up her, holding on at her back and rummaged in her back pocket. Music blasted as loud as possible, which was barely audible over city life. Between moving panels and plastic that looked like it was a piece of some other building’s roof, Tim could only just make out the song. 

“Isn’t that the new song from DJ Ben’s Pokemusic station? Oh, what’s it called?” It was a popular, maybe the most popular, pop music shows from Kanto region. With Indigo League topping the World League charts, causing the skyrocketing popularity of all things Kanto, stations from the small region were being broadcast worldwide over the internet. He wasn’t a huge K-pop fan or anything, but Jack had tried to pick up a girl or two that were fans. 

“What?” She dropped her lighter in the grill. 

He found the chairs. Four of them hidden among a stack of old crates that had no purpose being on the roof. “Just didn’t really expect that from you.” 

When he came back out she was fumbling around with a torn piece of paper. “Pikachu picked it out.” The song transitioned straight to another from the same artist. 

“Uh-huh. You have the songs on your phone, don’t you?” 

“I’m not answering that.” 

“You don’t have to answer. Rhetorical question.” 

Fire flared up from the bricks. Just for a moment and then died back down again. 

“Just surprising. That’s all. Kind of pictured you of more a punk or rock or….”

“How’s din-oh my god what happened up here?” Harry burst through the door with forced excitement. 

“You should remember!” Tim hissed. Harry turned himself around. Ali wasn’t paying them much mind so Tim felt comfortable whispering, “Aipom.” 

“Right. Aipom.” 

Ali spread out the coals from their pyramid and dropped the grate on top. The glow from the coals gave her and Pikachu an orange tint.

“Please tell me you brought more than an overripe pineapple.” 

From the bag Harry produced, “Beer!” 

Snagging one from the six-pack, she read the label. “I guess it’s acceptable.” And popped the top off easily. “Better have grabbed a water bottle for Pikachu.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up breaking up the old chapter 3 into two chapters because they got so long during rewrites. I'm super excited with how chapter 3 went and can't wait to get chapter 4 up. Have a great holiday weekend (in the US) and thanks for reading!


	4. Flying Types of a Feather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Alcohol use and definitely strong language.

Logic dictated that if she narrowed her eyes and concentrated on squinting while tilting her head to the side, Mr. G might start to make sense. He was being cheerful. Overly cheerful, which included a severe decrease in nagging than he ever had in their history of knowing each other. Several new variables wormed their way into his life that could have this effect. The obvious and most probable was his son, Tim. As if Harry were putting on a good face in front of Tim. That couldn’t possibly be it. Harry Goodman had never done that before, not in front of her and definitely never for her, so why start now?

Then he brought the beer. Beer, or alcohol in general, had never been a part of Tuesday night dinner. As far as Ali remembered, he never drank around her, and he always spent more time arguing with her about drinking than it took her to drink. Stubbornness rooted deep within Ali rarely let him win those fights.

After a few minutes of quiet, strained smiles she realized they were only listening to music, the coals crackling, and the city. No one was talking. Tim made no small talk with his father and Harry, well, she didn’t even know he was capable of shutting his mouth for so long.

Pikachu got abnormally quiet too. Slowly meandering around the milk crate table to help her unload the bag. He couldn’t lift the skewers in marinade, but when he emerged from around the milk crate with her favorite cleaver, they all jumped to take it from him. He didn’t take any offense, just moseyed back around and grabbed the half-cut pineapple. And then there were the ears of corn. 

Tim broke the silence with a sly grin, “I thought you made him buy food.” 

It was a start. “You think I trust him? Look what he brought?” 

“I knew it!” Harry exclaimed. “You do this just to make me…”

“Contribute? I never denied it! But keep talking,” her eyes narrowed in annoyance, “see if you get dinner.” 

Mr. G sucked in a sharp breath in a pathetic attempt at feigning shock that no one, especially her, believed. “You would let us starve?” 

“No, I’d feed these two. They’re cute.” 

She gulped down the rest of her beer, nursing the beginning of a migraine thanks to Mr. G. The coals had dimmed and now coated in a dusting of ash, and they felt evenly hot. Ready to start dinner. And a brilliant way to divert her attention from the brewing tension. 

Mr. G tried to slip out a few curses about her, but quiet enough that Tim couldn’t hear. The distinctness of ‘drunk’ in Kantonese slipped out, and she turned on him, unable to keep herself in check any longer. He seemed to ignore his son, barely helped with any of the ‘boring paper work’, and threw his son into the fray with the barest minimum of support. Year of experience with his tactics gave her insight on how to deal with his crap, but this wasn’t exactly the way to keep the son, the one he’d been dreaming would return to him, around. Stress must have been building for a while for Mr. G to break and drink, but he broke her even faster. 

“Really?” If he was trying to rile her up for a distraction, it worked. Tim spun his bottle, still full, in circles on the arm of the chair. When he looked at them Tim’s smile was a thin line and he kept at his bottle. It all boiled together and made her snap, “In front of your son?” 

Tim let out a sigh and spun the bottle again. Harry, Mr. G, didn’t notice. He kept on cussing at her, under his breath and in broken Kantonese, making her respond in kind. She couldn’t blame the alcohol yet. His bottle was still half full. 

During a lull in their fight Tim said, “I didn’t know you spoke Kantonese.” 

“Barely. He speaks like a foreigner.” She caught herself. Switching back and forth always made her accent fall away, and she sounded…honestly, like she barely spoke Unovan. To give herself time to arrange her thoughts, Ali asked the most loaded question she could think of, “How’s the case going?”

“What case?”

Ali’s finger twitched. Keeping herself calm becoming a hefty chore. If she constantly had to deal with this side of Mr. G, she’d assault him. Hell, she was ready to assault him now. He knew damn well that he’d asked her for help on the case. Especially working two big cases at the same time. She would have focused on the missing Ghost Type, but that was just her. He worried more about the case she’d still had yet to hear anything about. “Yoshimoto case. The missing Phantump. Because, you know, a missing Ghost type who lures children away is great ‘mon to have in a massive metropolis. Why she took that ‘mon…” 

“You know exactly why Mrs. Yoshimoto took Phantump as her partner. And no. I haven’t found Phantump yet. Ghost Types are elusive.” 

No shit? Elusive? Ghost Types? Ali squeezed the bottle so tightly a crack buckled in her grip. 

Bottle stopping mid turn, Tim’s eyebrows furrowed when he asked, “Why did she?” 

Ghost Types made Ali’s head throb. Talking about them only slightly less painful than dealing with them. “Do you know how a Phantump is made?” 

Tim shook his head, “We don’t have many Ghost Types back home.”

Mr. G sourly corrected his son, “We had Phantumps. Just,” Ali raised her eyebrows expecting a convoluted excuse but Mr. G crumpled, “not many.” 

“Really?” 

Instead of his tiny sips, Mr. G took a great gulp of beer while everything else about him turned rigid, “No one wanted the kids to know....” 

“You have a forest near home?” Her knowledge about Leaventown was limited. Ali knew there were hills and grasslands, so it was safe to assume there were probably forests. Tim nodded. “Any kids when you were young go missing? Not on their journey, but...just went missing?” 

“Uh, yeah. One kid. Brayden. I think we were having a strength test in the middle of the night...”

“Ali,” Mr. G warned. 

“He’s an adult! And not telling them when they were kids was stupid! How would they protect themselves?” 

“Things were different in Kanto region, I guess. But we,” he looked between the two of them and whatever he would have said died. “We relocated both.” 

Ignoring Mr. G, Ali turned back to Tim, “This Brayden, he got lost? Probably in the woods?” 

After a heavy exhale, “Ah.” Still, Tim didn’t drink. Just stared at the bottle, making it pirouette again. “Think I agree with her. Might have been good to know that a long time ago.” 

“You would.” Mr. G squeezed his bottle tight. “Has RCPD made any headway on Phantump?” 

“Not my division.” Not that she didn’t know. No, they hadn’t found it but with very little leads to go on and no missing children RCPD wasn’t exactly putting a ton of effort into the search either. She tried to find the Phantump, as long as it didn’t blow her cover, but no one she knew had heard anything about the missing ‘mon. However, she also knew, “You have stuff to follow up on, anyway. The robberies. Involving Ghost Types. As if you don’t suspect there’s some connection there.” 

“Again, no thanks to you.”

“Why didn’t you send him?” It was, seriously, a straightforward pickup. What could Tim have screwed up? Go in, ask for the tapes. Especially if Mr. G made arrangements ahead of time. So easy it could barely be considered work! 

Now tipping the bottle side-to-side, Tim complained, “I was fully capable of picking up that surveillance footage.” 

“No.”

“Literally not a big....” 

“I said no.” 

She’d never seen Mr. G act like this before. Closed off from her, keeping secrets about everything. 

And what the hell? He let her go off all the time and pick up tapes or rifle through mail and dumpsters. None of that was new. It was just a dry cleaners and their security tapes for the camera outside the door. Barely over the border of…oh. If she remembered correctly, Leaventown didn’t have any Teams. 

“It’s fine.” She needed a second beer to drown out her own idiocy. Ali should have thought of it sooner. She wasn’t his child. And she’d proven time and again that she could take care of herself. Her eyes slid down to her feet. She nudged the milk crate table and mumbled, “I’ll go next time, Mr. G.” 

A sharp, “No,” startled Ali. “I’ll do it.” In her darkest days, for which there were plenty, he’d never snapped at her. Mr. G had been a rock. A guiding light. 

“Okay.” Internally she could continue to berate herself at great length. “No more shop talk tonight.” In the meantime, Ali glanced over at the grill. She didn’t have to move much to turn the skewers or the corn. 

The beer, she decided, had been a brilliant move, and she needed another. Mr. G was about halfway through his but had stalled, now mimicking his son making the bottle dance in circles. Tim’s was still full, untouched other than spinning. 

In sore need for a change of subject Ali asked, “You don’t drink, do you?”

“We’re the same age.” 

“That doesn’t answer my question.” He’d nurse that bottle for more than a half hour without taking a single sip. 

“It’s…”

Notorious for his forgetfulness, Ali went everywhere as prepared as possible if not for the walking disaster Mr. G, for Pikachu. Swapping out the bottle in his hand for a water bottle and sipping. The beer had already gone flat, but that was fine. 

“Thanks,” he still couldn’t really look her in the eye.

Mr. G muttered about her being a drunk. She kicked Mr. G’s chair and tried to ignore him, lasting all of a few seconds, “You bought the beer! You literally,” she switched back to Kantonese when she felt Tim watching and retorted again at Mr. G. “So,” they kicked at each other angrily. One swift shot at his knee and Mr. G finally shut up. She continued, “Do you keep up with Leagues?” Mr. G didn’t, and this was revenge for him being, well, him. 

* * *

Ali and Mr. G ended up splitting the beers, three - three. Halfway through the second beer for each, the conversation turned almost pleasant. As long as they didn’t stray towards the subject of work or Pokemon, in too much depth, the tension never rose higher than a disagreement about whether Clifford’s arrest would lead to any measurable changes in the city as a whole. The disagreement didn’t even come about because of her opinion on Clifford, but about discussing the topic _at all_. This left glaringly few topics of conversation. Not one of them had an active social life. Tim knew nothing about Ryme and hadn’t really gone exploring the city like other tourists. And Mr. G’s life revolved around work. 

Then at the first sign of cleaning, Mr. G abandoned them, dragging Pikachu along with him, under the guise of needing his help. 

Ali flicked a few of the broken skewers into the plastic trash bag, slowly. Despite the alcohol, she made every one. And had forgotten Tim was there with her until she hit him while he dumped pineapple and corn scraps in her garbage bag.

“Oops. Sorry.” She couldn’t quite remember when he’d faded away from the conversation. Ali had been talking to Mr. G about…about…was it Bernie? And after that? “You don’t have to do that.”

“It’s only fair. You cooked dinner.” 

Really, there was very little to clean aside from the skewers, pineapple and corn scraps, and empty bottles. Still, her fingers clenched shut. Some impression she was making. “Yeah.” When he headed toward the roof access door with the bags she asked, “Wait, what’re you doing?” 

“Taking the garbage down?” 

The roof swayed when she stood, so Ali carefully walked to the ledge slower. Mid-sized ‘mon danced around the lights on all the neighboring buildings. She let out a sharp whistle. Most of them paid her no mind, but a few Aipom were curious. If those were Aipom. She hoped they weren’t Primeapes. 

A few skewers of meat were left over, and she started waving them around, “Want these?” One brave, blurry ‘mon leapt from across the gap to scramble over the side of the ledge. It finally, and thankfully, coalesced into an Aipom as it clambered over the ledge of their building. Taking Tim’s garbage bag she held out both, “Put this,” she shook the bag, “in the dumpster,” she pointed over the ledge, “and you get these.” Ali shook the kebabs one more time for emphasis. The greedy Aipom swiped at them, but she pulled them from his reach just in time. “Ah! Only after.” At first his smile shrank, then widened into a sweeter, more docile grin. They watched as he took the bag and scampered down the side of the building. Back up in a flash, she handed over the food as promised. “Thank you.” Nuzzling her hand, she obliged with a scratch by his ear and he scampered off to show off his rewards to the other Aipom a few buildings down. 

“Whoa.” 

Over the years of knowing Mr. G, he’d bounced around ideas about why Tim was so reticent to come to Ryme. Ali always thought it was as simple as hating Mr. G for walking out but he’d also abandoned all his childhood dreams and that had nothing to do with Mr. G coming to Ryme. Mr. G never talked about his wife, only telling Ali once that she’d passed away. Now Tim watched the Aipom in the distance while an internal war brewed. As if he wanted to like them, play with them, connect with them and yet there was something there stopping him and Ali felt her insides clench. Did he blame Mr. G for coming to Ryme to help Pokemon, make an actual difference, or were Pokemon to blame for however his mother got sick?

Casually shaking his arm she asked, “Wanna go finish up the books?” 

“Not really.” His voice was far off, further than the Aipom now.

Ali rolled her eyes, “I’m offering to help.” 

“Oh.” Tim intensely studied his fingernails, hiding a slight frown. “You don’t have to.”

Ali, though, didn’t take no for an answer. Taking him by the shoulders, she turned him towards the door, pausing only to grab her bag filled with mostly empty containers.   
The roof, and even more so the stairs, didn’t acquiesce to her demands of playing nicely, twisting just enough to throw her off balance. But the way he smirked at her whenever that happened, or the wobbly way she grabbed at the railing, made it ok. Plus, _she_ could to tell herself that was because of her own agility issues, not the alcohol. Except she knew she had great agility. 

“So,” he was so quiet she couldn’t stand it. “Why insurance?” 

“How? How did you know _that_?” 

“How do you think?” He stopped on the stairs to stare at the underside of the flight above them, waiting for the answer he obviously knew was coming. “Your dad never shuts up about you. At least to me.” 

“Sorry.” He groaned. “How did _he_ even know?” 

“Your Gram. They still talk, like, all the time.”

She assumed she’d said something wrong as his jaw tightened more. And he looked tired. Exhausted. She bit back the need to pry further and said, “Nevermind I asked.” 

“It was easy. Easy-ish. Didn’t have to deal with Pokémon. Pretty laid back office. Everyone complained I wasn’t applying myself, but it was fine.” There was more there, but he kept biting his lips, so she cut off that line of conversation. She was more than capable of filling the time with more banter until she landed on something he would talk about. 

Tim opened the apartment door for her. She wobbled in and flipped on the light switch. Nothing happened, so she kept flipping again and again and again, more violently each time until she remembered. “Oh, fuck me. I forgot about the breaker box.” 

“You’re drunk. We can call an electrician in the morning.” 

“I’m not drunk.” She swayed with the room again, and Tim smirked at her. “It’s just a fuse that needs replacing.” 

“And?” 

“I can do that after a bottle of whiskey.” 

“That concerns me on many levels.” 

During dinner she noticed that if she got too close, physically, he recoiled a bit. At first Ali assumed that had to do with his girlfriend. She didn’t want to make him anymore uncomfortable than he already was around her, but the beer she’d drank won over her senses. Ali grabbed his arm, dragging him down the hallway with her, deftly avoiding furniture and his attempt to pull away.

“Where’s the fuses I bought last time this happened?” 

“Should we just replace them all?” Harry muttered absently, still engrossed by whatever he was reading.

“I will replace,” the room felt blurry. She needed to steady herself with the desk, “one tonight.” 

“Aren’t there only three for the apartment?” 

“There’s,” she counted rooms, “five. I think. And I replaced one a few months back.” Steadier, she stood again. 

“We can call an electrician.” Tim placed a steady hand under her elbow and the room felt far less wobbly.

“This is more than just one fuse.”

Snatching the flashlight from Mr. G, she found the breaker box in the back of the closet. “Ah,” she cussed. “None of these are labeled. Still!” Tim made a constricted kind of noise back in the dark recesses of the office. “Three fuses need replacing. Where’s your damn toolbox?” 

Small arcs of electricity strobed in the closet, Pikachu at her feet. “Careful, bud. Don’t want to set anything off in here. Never know what Harry’s stashed away.” 

“You just called him Harry.” Tim’s silhouette appeared behind her. 

“Shit!” Ali crashed into the wall, clutching the flashlight. “No, I didn’t.” 

“I heard you,” Tim whispered. 

“ _He_ better not have.” 

Tim ushered Pikachu out, agreeing with Ali’s assessment that lightning, or loose electricity discharging in the closet, was not safe. 

“Might as well make yourself useful.” Shoving the flashlight at him Tim she cussed and cursed out Mr. G the entire time she switched out the fuses. He nestled in to the corner of the closet, against boxes only inches from her. Closer when he couldn’t keep the light steady. She couldn’t tell how uncomfortable this made him. All he did was quietly obey her orders among the curses and flashed an uneasy grin at her whenever she glanced over her shoulder. 

“Stupid fuses. Stupid old building. You need to move!” 

Still reading, though now by phone light, Mr. G retorted, “Rent controlled.” 

“Rent controlled,” Ali mocked when she didn’t hold the screwdriver in by her teeth. “Stop moving the light.” She yanked him so close to her she could feel him against her. Gods, she couldn’t breathe with him right there.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t just call an electrician?” Tim asked, but she was one last curse away from being done. Ali flipped the new switches immediately filling the apartment with light. 

Ali needed room to move, get out of the claustrophobia inducing closet, “Excuse me?” She glared at him accusingly. He was in her way and Tim acknowledged that a beat after her glare then took a couple paces back out of the closet. Slamming the breaker box's door shut Ali was thrilled that both the fuses were replaced and the floor had stopped wobbling about. 

“Sorry.” Tim shouldn’t be the target of her aggression just because he was conveniently nestled next to her. 

Wrenching the flashlight from his grasp, Ali dropped it on Harry’s desk with the tools. “You,” she jabbed her finger at Harry, “label the new switches.” 

Ali gathered her bag and headed to the door to leave. “We-uh,” Tim stammered, meeting her at the door, “have a client coming tomorrow and…?”

Damn. She’d really hoped to avoid this. At least today because, “I forgot your shirt at home.” 

“Oh, yeah.”

Pikachu wrapped around Ali’s leg, holding tight. Her eyes itched angrily. Normally, late nights like these she would just stay in the apartment and sleep on the couch or, if she really had trouble falling asleep, in Tim’s bed. Not an option anymore. And since Cu left, Pikachu, who worried more about her than Mr. G, insisted on sleeping with her. He’d cling to her leg until she laid down and then curl into her arms for the night just like now.

Harry, hopefully out of intimidation, was already working on the switch label, “Tim, walk Ali home?” 

“I don’t need a chaperone.” Maybe she shouldn’t have had the third beer. The floor cooperated but her attitude couldn’t, “ _He_ will need a chaperone to get home after.” Harry wasn’t listening, just cutting tape. “I can drop it in the morning.”

“It’s before you get up.” Harry retorted.

Gods, he was trying to piss her off. “Liar. It’s before you normally get up.”

But Mr. G had a counter ready for anything she said, “Team activity has been up lately.” 

“Not my fault. And I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” For the first time since she’d known Mr. G, he was being evasive. Secretive. More so than before her last case, notably because that case was the first where he’d ever lied right to her face about a job. Tim sensed something was off too, shifting back and forth, hands stuffed in his pocket and avoiding his father’s gaze. “You want him walking back on his own?”

Until she offended him. “Hey!” 

Scrawny muscles and his stature told her what she needed to know. He worked out but not to build muscle mass or power. He was lean, probably relatively strong, but in a very unfocused way. 

So, she jabbed him in the arm. 

“Oh, my god!” Nursing his arm and chest, “Do you have Machamp DNA or something?” 

Ali shrugged at Mr. G. She might be slightly drunk, but this boy wouldn’t last in a fight against any Team grunts. “Fine,” she relented, “I’ll walk him back and sleep here.” And turned to leave. 

Harry countered, “No extra beds.” 

“I’ll sleep on the couch.” What did he seriously think she would do? Seduce his son in the same apartment as him? Had he become completely delusional? 

Wiggling his wallet out, Harry folded a few bills, “He can take a taxi.” 

“I am standing right here.” 

“Whatever.” She didn’t want to be tiptoeing around Harry any longer. Grabbing her bag, Ali didn’t call Tim until she was down the hall, “Let’s go.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I labored over this and the next chapter so much and ended up doing several rewrites before I was happy with them. Now off to edit the next chapter, which has a lot of new content but more cuteness!


	5. No, Wait...Where Did She Sleep?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Oh look, still alcohol use and swearing...because...that's just going to happen a lot.   
> This chapter was harder than most to write, I tried to reconcile why a formerly estranged father would suddenly keep his son at arms' length and coping (in maybe the not most healthy ways).   
> This chapter does deal with a lot of heavy subjects. Death, loss, depression.

Following a rampaging Tauros may have been safer than following Ali. She charged through the building slamming doors, punching walls and banisters, even kicking a step so hard she dented the corner. Machamp DNA indeed. It’s not like he didn’t understand. He’d been wound so tight Tim thought an ulcer had formed the way his stomach churned. For him, Tim had endured this treatment from Harry for the last several days, tension building and consuming him. Without the luxury of snapping like she did. 

Cool night air cut straight through his shirt, chilling him. He hadn’t even realized he’d been sweating, now he’d be freezing the entire walk to Ali’s apartment. At least he wasn’t stuck in that stifling apartment. He’d take the briskness of walking to wherever she lived in the city than stuck in a confined space with Harry Goodman any longer. 

Alone in the middle of the sidewalk, Ali trembled. Slight enough it could have been a trick of the eye until she sniffled. Her back to him, then and instant later her tension evaporated. She turned and slumped against the street lamp. “Well, now we know why he brought the beer.” 

“I thought you said he wasn’t an asshole.” 

She said, “He’s not,” but her tone said the exact opposite. 

Staring up at the neon sign affixed to the side of their building, Ali’s face contorted into a scowl. Tim looked up too but didn’t see anything other than the sign and its reflection in the windowpanes.

They could see Harry’s apartment and shadows moving around vaguely. 

“Come on.” Ali grasped his arm, and she tore down the street with him in tow. Back to the Tauros rampage. She only let him go when they finally had to pause at an intersection. They were walking in the same direction as the market.

“Is he always like that?” 

“That?” she bristled. “No, that was all new.” Ali raked her hand through her hair, pulling bits from her hair tie. Wild strands framed her face. She grumbled at having to take it down and tie her hair back again. “When I first met him, Mr. G never -”

“-shut up?” 

“Yes! Never! It was like he did it to fill the empty space. Even when I wasn’t there. I’d just walk in and he’d be talking to himself, or Pikachu. Now,” they sighed together. 

“He barely says a word.” 

That was it. Ali stopped venting, so he did too. They stood there waiting for the signal to change.

Belatedly, Tim realized that time lost all meaning during their dinner. There’d been no reason to check the time. No interviews, no work that required him to be in an office at a specific time. And even though he’d pulled himself away from the conversation, not like he had anything to contribute anyway, he enjoyed watching from the sidelines. Their bickering, their inside jokes. The things he secretly always wanted. But Ali, she didn’t ignore him either. When the conversation strayed too far in one direction or a lull came Ali turned to him and reeled him back in. At least, before her third beer. Then she still reeled him in only with every topic Harry wanted to avoid. She paid more attention to him than…anyone else. 

If Tim questioned why his dad worried about Ali walking home alone, it evaporated at Market street. Tim had only ever seen that street packed with people. Vendors and customers. Packed. All day and, he’d assumed, all night. Now it was late enough to be a normal, run of the mill, utterly empty street. Empty except for shadows shifting unnaturally. 

The shadows captivated him. Harry’s worries about Team crime being worse than ever popped to his mind. “I didn’t think Ryme even had a Team problem.” 

“Right.” Her elbow grazed his, knocking him gently back to reality. “This way. Don’t go down Market when there aren’t vendors.” The shadow that caught his eye grew, darkening the street, creeping its way towards them. His feet wouldn’t move until, “Hey?” Ali had to jump to get into his line of sight, waving her hands right in his face. “You ok?” 

“Yeah.” Blinking faster, almost as if he’d just woken up, but the haze lingered. He didn’t want to get up.

Loud snaps shook him again. “Plasma’s been enlisting Psychic Types. We gotta go.” When he looked at her, whatever had come over him disappeared. “All we need is to run into a Hypno with no backup.” 

His mind felt fuzzy. Not unlike when he would get distracted by Lucy, but worse. Buildings, lights, storefronts, all passed by in a blur directed by Ali. His vision came back into focus, sharpening further when pushed him into a damp brick wall. 

“Hey?” Ali didn’t stand still, checking all around them every few seconds, snapping in his face more. “Tim?” He blinked the last of fuzziness away and there, right in front of him, her concerned frown faded away. “Oh, thank the Legendaries.” Rough hands cupped under his head, turning it from side to side. “No point talking to you when you’re still Confused.” 

Something made her drop her hands, heading off down the street, a street he didn’t recognize at all. 

“Wait. I was…what?” 

“You probably don’t remember.” Backtracking only to drag him down the street faster. “Hypno. He’s been lurking on Market Street luring people, you know, for a midnight snack, and capturing their Pokemon for Plasma. Still think there isn’t a Team problem here?” A ringing echoed off the buildings, almost like a high-pitched bell that didn’t fade away, just a steady ring, causing Ali to go rigid.

“Aaaand we should keep moving.” 

“You were going to walk home alone?” 

“I’m fine. You’re the one I worry about.” She tapped his bruised shoulder, causing another blossom of pain. 

“Legendaries, Harry should just tell you things. He’s such a dumbass!” Her pace slowed, though Ali didn’t stop turning to double check they weren’t being followed. 

The ringing faded away, leaving the city’s nightlife din to take over again. Pausing under an awning, Ali turned to face him. 

“Tell me what?” he asked, still feeling like Confusion ran rampant through his brain.

They both leaned into the window of a closed shop. Her eyes drifting away from his every so often, up and over his head, giving him precious seconds to really see her. Watch how her jaw clenched. Her eyes taking in everything around them until they came back to him. Then she looked away quickly. 

Glancing back at him, Ali sighed, “Nothing.” 

“Arg! No, don’t you start this with me too!” She froze. “I don’t even know you and you’ve told me more than my family. I’m not a child. I can handle the truth. I can handle whatever anyone has to say, I just want someone to tell me and stop tiptoeing around my goddamn life!” 

“Really?” 

“Yes!” 

“Mr. G’s trying to keep you safe.” 

“I’m perfectly capable,” Ali scoffed at that, “Ok, I’m kind of,” but she scoffed again. “Really?” Tim hated to admit that she was right until her hand balled into a fist, “Ok, not the Mega Punch again. Please?” It still throbbed from the playful hit she’d just given him. He couldn’t take another more serious hit. “But, I mean, he treats me like I wasn’t the whole reason he got his -” 

“You’re _his_ child!”

Tim gaped. Ali backed away a step, then another, hunching into herself until she could find support against the building again. Her legs shook violently, and he feared they’d give way and he wasn’t close enough to catch her. She slid down to the windowsill. And he was the biggest asshole of all. 

“Ali,” he couldn’t even fathom what to say. “That’s not…I didn’t mean…” 

“It’s fine,” she snapped. “Not like I didn’t know.” 

“Please.” He pleaded. He literally didn’t think. That was it. And saying such a dumb thing…god, he was an asshole. 

“Come on,” she pushed herself off, checking the window behind him again. If he let go of his concentration the world start to get fuzzy again, the ringing coming into focus. “That Hypno won’t like my street.” 

Ali lived in walking distance so he doubted that they’d gone very far, but as they turned the corner to a new street, it looked like they entered a completely different city. The buildings morphed from tall combo units with shop fronts on the first floor and apartments above to shorter homes and apartment buildings. All lined neatly with stairs and multicolored doors. Here, brick and dark greenery transformed the street. They passed a streetlight that had burnt out, but the city’s ambient light…no. Not the city. A soft glow from Illuminase lit vines and leaves covering the buildings. The ringing

Tim had heard faded away, replaced with chimes. He recognized that chime. Kricketots. A lot of Kricketots. 

As if answering the question as it formed, “Hypno is weak to Bug Types.” 

“Right. Yeah.” Kricketot’s chimes echoed, bouncing from wall to wall to fill the street with a constant droning tone. The unease melted away. 

Her pace slowed, back still to him as she coughed. “He hasn’t had to be a dad to his own kid in a long time.” Her voice barely audible over the Kricketots. 

No. He hadn’t. Tim always assumed his father was just on his own, mostly he had been. There was Lieutenant Yoshida, his friend. And…

“What about you?” 

“I’m not his kid.” 

“Then what?” 

“I don’t know,” she mumbled. “The kid who beat the crap out of him.” 

“You probably weren’t the first.” Tim had done his fair share of getting Harry beat up when they tried to go Pokemon hunting. 

“No, probably not.” They stopped at a staircase he almost thought led to nowhere. Vines hid so much of the building he’d mistaken it as part of the adjacent building. “His informant? His pet project?” She sat on the edge of the baluster, twisting the ends of her bag. 

“You’re more than that.” 

“Doesn’t matter, he has you.” It mattered. He knew it mattered. He certainly could see it mattered to Ali. “Come on,” her voice listless and faraway, “let’s get your shirt.” Her hand crept to his, jiggling it with a faltering smile. 

* * *

How the hell did Tim hold this power over her to make all those insecurities, the hurt, the fucking pain burning inside of her dim just by looking at her? How? And the more time she spent around him, the more she felt like melting for real. Hell, they were outside and she swore someone fired off a Searing Shot. She wanted to grab hold of his hand, loop her arms around him and…what the hell was she thinking? 

No, really? Tim was Mr. G’s son. Completely, totally, UTTERLY off limits. 

Just because he miraculously, for some unfathomable reason, made her feel better about being nothing to Mr. G. Well, being a maid and bookkeeper, which was actually a bit more than nothing. Didn’t matter! She wasn’t his kid, so why did she bother getting upset? All she’d gotten was confirmation of what she’d already known. 

_Pull yourself together! Stupid school yard crush on a…_

All helpless and sweet and weaseling his way into her heart. Well, further. There’d been a kind of place marker there for a while with Mr. G’s stories and the way he kind of cared for her like a proper parent. What she imagined an actual parent did for their actual children. Some of it was living vicariously through his stories of Tim’s childhood. Then more of it was overhearing all the late-night phone calls to Tim’s Gram while she hid out on the fire escape. Mr. G had to know she’d been there many times, listening in, but never let on. On long ass stake outs, chilling in the back of Mr. G’s crappy car while Pikachu and Cu slept on her, listening to him go on and on about Tim’s life. School and dances and his friends, which she never listened to their names, and it was all so normal. And perfect. And she kind of wanted to protect it all for him. Just because he was Mr. G’s son and gave Mr. G that silly, goofy smile whenever he talked about Tim.

And then Tim goes innocently walking straight into trouble, the complete opposite of his father who barrels headlong into danger with hardly a care. 

Prickles shot up her fingers at the slightest graze of his skin. _You’re a damn Investigator for RCPD, not a tween fangirl. Rein it in!_ Her cheeks flushed hotter when she realized the tingling hadn’t gone away. She needed to figure out something to talk about before she did something inexcusable. 

Ali dropped his hand, which she wasn’t holding because that was more dangerous than wearing her Skull bandana and shirt when she stepped into the battle arena. Turning, she bolted for the door and prayed he followed because she couldn’t bring herself to call out to him. 

“I don’t think he knows how to be around you.” Oh, great fucking topic. She didn’t know how to be around him. At least on a dark street she could hide the bright red color of her cheeks. In her building, scant light lit the stairwell. Probably not enough to see the way her red burning flush traveled all the way to her ears, but maybe soon, in her apartment.

Tim’s mouth gaped at that, mouthing words but deciding against them at the last minute. So, all she did was make it worse.

Finally, he landed on, “I just don’t want to be treated like a child.” 

“Yeah.” She didn’t like being treated like a child either. “I -” They climbed the stairs. Unlike Mr. G’s building, hers was quiet until they got to the third floor. Ali stuffed her hand into the pocket of her jeans, feeling the ring of keys. 

The keys flew out of her hand when Mrs. Futaba’s screech called out, “Angel? Is that…?” 

“Shit.” She scrambled for the keys and found her apartment one, except that it ended up being Mr. G’s apartment key and she had to flip around to because her key had gone missing since she’d left that morning. _Where is it! Where is it!_

“OH!” No! No, no, no! Mrs. Futaba’s voice went impossibly high. “He’s cute!” 

“Nope,” As quick as a Ninjask, Ali unlocked her door, threw her shoulder into it, snatched Tim by the arm and threw him into her apartment. 

Crumpling against the door she inhaled slowly through her nose but when Tim laughed, in a far less hysterical manner than she thought appropriate, Ali insides clenched like she’d heave the contents of dinner onto the floor.

“What was that?” 

She jumped at his question. Inside, with actual fluorescent light she could see the blush in his cheeks. “Oh, um-Mrs. Futaba.” There was no reason to explain Mrs. Futaba. Or Kanto region expectations. Not when she would never bring him back to her apartment. Ever. Again. 

Why explain that they all considered her a failure of Kanto woman for not even dating anyone at her ripe old age of 22, almost 23. That her neighbors worried she would never get married and live alone as an old maid with a collection of small ‘mons to keep her company until the day she died. Which, whenever anyone brought up the number of ‘mons she’d have when they found her sad, lonely body in the cramped apartment the number jumped each time becoming more ludicrous the longer her neighbors’ insanity went on. 

Ali tried to give him a grin, faltering when he asked, “What was she asking...?” 

“Grab this opportunity! Grab him and,” Mrs. Futaba’s masterful shouting tore right through both their doors. The entire building probably could hear her right now and she’d be fending off questions for a week, if she was lucky. 

Ali threw the door back open, shouting back in Kantonese and put the old woman in her place. Drowning out Mrs. Futaba’s embarrassing suggestions at the same time. When she slammed the door again, and locked it, Ali wanted to hide in the shower with a rain of chilly water. That way she couldn’t hear Mrs. Futaba offer any more suggestions that were so likely to increase in sexual nature and she wouldn’t be so insanely hot. 

She cut off Tim, who couldn’t stop laughing, “Don’t. Say. A. Word.” 

* * *

“I...uh...she’s...” Tim had zero experience with anyone from other regions. Until he came to Ryme the furthest Tim had traveled was Marigold City. Not exactly the most diverse city in the region. Nothing compared to Ryme in the entire world. 

“Just don’t.” He felt bad for her. She managed to be both pale and bright red at the same time with a slight tinge of green edging its way in. “I-I don’t have guests over. So,” she slipped off her shoes and ran through the tiny apartment, pausing momentarily at her couch to ball up a blanket and throw it to one end with a matching pillow. “I’ll grab your shirt.” Tim tried to stifle a smirk. Her accent came and went, slipping more into her voice the more stressed out she got, and he thought it was cute. 

Standing there, in the middle of her apartment, Tim wondered what he could say or do. The silence didn’t seem right. He tried asking, “You don’t...bring guys home,” as a joke, but the moment it was out of his mouth it felt like crossing some weird boundary in that awkward way he always got around girls. Especially pretty girls. 

_Dumb. Dumb. Dumb!_

To keep his mouth shut, he took a look around. Her apartment was tiny. It could easily have fit within just his dad’s office and kitchen space. He stood in an open room that was both a kitchenette and living space, with only a couch, coffee table and entertainment stand. Based on the state of her greasy, hole filled clothes, he expected a mess akin to his father’s. But aside from the couch, doubling as a bed apparently, her apartment was very tidy. In fact, the kitchen was spotless. 

Ali ducked into a room in the back, past a perfectly made bed. 

She ran back out and into another adjacent doorway, most likely a bathroom. 

“I don’t have a love life.” 

“That doesn’t answer my question.” He tried to salvage the conversation and, well, was capable of playing the same games as her especially if she kept herself distracted enough to not notice how inconsiderate he’d even been. 

Tim wandered over to the entertainment stand. Impressed to see video games stacked on the bottom with the system and controller charging. Lined along the sides of the built-in shelves were framed pictures. 

She grunted, but he heard clothing rustle in the bathroom. “I don’t date.” 

“At all?” 

“At all.” 

How had he met nothing but gorgeous women in Ryme, so far, and none of them dated? The more he got to know Lucy, the more he understood why she didn’t get to date. Her career choice didn’t leave much room for romance. And he suspected she sometimes picked up a second job to pay rent. 

But Ali, she wasn’t constantly working unless his dad kept her busy too. Bright and sweet and had a hell of a lot of patience to put up with Harry for so long. And gorgeous. _Stop._ That line of thinking was off limits. Not until he figured out things with Lucy. Things he thought were figured out, but the more he saw Lucy the more it seemed she didn’t understand what he’d meant. 

He gave a non-committal, “Huh.” The pictures took his attention away from trying to keep a conversation going. They were all Ali and her former partner, Cu. Mostly just the two of them at varying degrees of cleanliness in varying locations that he assumed was around Ryme. So, lack of cleanliness was not a new thing with her. Tim had heard that some partners took on characteristics of the other in oddly specific ways. Like slurping the same or inadvertently choosing haircuts that made them look similar. It seemed strange to him but with Ali and Cu, in one picture covered in colored dust, like he’d seen in pictures from fun runs, gently head butting each other, they just fit together. In another, the frame draped with a ribbon, Ali carried Cu on her shoulders. He scanned the pictures again. Cu had evolved to a Marowak at some point, but there were only a couple pictures after he’d evolved. 

“What about your girlfriend?” 

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he answered reflexively. 

“Sure.”

His shirt swung into view, hitting him in the head. “Your dad tell you about him?” Her cheeks had returned to a normal color, but the threat of tears lingered with blotchy patches.

“Your partner?” She’d already pointed out how terrible he was at lying, so no point bothering trying. “Yeah.” 

Her mouth set in a hard line, but she didn’t say anything. 

“What happened?” 

Tears formed the second the question was out of his mouth and he tried to take it back but she said, “Uh, drug bust on Team Rocket went sideways. He,” Ali needed a deep breath, then another before she started again. Her hands shook, and she couldn’t hide from him fast enough. “He stayed inside the warehouse where the bust went down to give the other officers, and me, time to get out.”  
Tim looked at the picture again, the one with the medal. It was some competition. Martial arts? That would make sense. They were both fighters. “He was a hero.” 

Ali held back tears as she nodded. “Yeah.” Shoving the shirt into him, Ali attempted to hide how she wiped at her face. “You can hate me, you know.” 

“I don’t.” 

She rolled over the corner of the entertainment stand to stare at the same picture he had been, the competition one, all while chewing on her lip. “Maybe you should,” she breathed. 

Harry really looked like a father, doting on his daughter after winning a competition. 

If he were bolder, braver, Tim felt like he’d know what to do, what the right words were. Like, _You know you were exactly the kind of person my dad wanted to help._ Except way less cheesy than that.   
Her voice cracked, “I can walk you home. You don’t have to call a cab. That’s silly for six blocks.” 

“No, it’s fine.” Actually, he didn’t want to leave. It wasn’t even about going back to the apartment and dealing with his dad. He really just didn’t want to leave her. “Thank you.” Tim saw the shirt for the first time since she’d handed it to him. His shirt was freshly washed and pressed, way better than he ever be able to, and somehow that made him want to leave even less. Stay, just a little while longer, and ask her more about Cu and about his dad.

Next to the picture with the medal was one with Harry and Pikachu. It looked like they were at the same gym and taken from above like a selfie. Harry held up the medal as Cu balanced Pikachu on his skull and Ali snapped the picture. 

Ali snuck away from him, reappearing with a book gripped so tightly her knuckles were white. She stumbled over her words, “Here. Um, you should read this.” Ryme Province Private Investigator Licensing Handbook. 

Harry had shown him the book the day he decided to stay in Ryme. “I’m not taking the exam.” 

“I figured with the want ads everywhere in your dad’s office.” She kept holding it out until he took it. “Your dad, he - uh - gave that to me.” 

“Oh.” Tim turned the well worn book over. 

Ali kept rubbing at her nose and face, trying to stop any chance of tears falling. “Just…please?” She crained her neck around to see the picture of her and Harry again and she continued, “He never stopped being your dad.” 

A knot formed in Tim’s stomach, twisting and writhing at the sight of her with _him_ when he should have been…

“Sure.” The book. Some competition she’d been in. 

“Tim?” Her hand was warm around his. Fingers prying into his fist. She dug in when he wouldn’t relent, “He came here to work. To…” 

“Help people. Help Pokemon. I know.” 

“To help your mom. Your Gram.” Each word became smaller. “You.” Had he? Tim still had no answers. Why Harry stayed away when his mom got sick. Why he never came back to Leaventown. It would have been nice if he’d tried. If he’d… “But nothing your dad told me explains where you got that Wimpod DNA. Mr. G certainly isn’t a Wimpod. More of a Slowpoke.” 

“Wow. Really?” Except, she still made the hole in him, that gaping emptiness, shrink. “You went there?” Only two of her fingers wiggled around in his fist. “Says the grease Mankey!” 

Fingers hooked through his Ali tugged. “Come on.” The warmth fell away, her fingers slipping free. “We can walk or take my bike. Your choice.” 

Ali perked up. More bubbles and hopping than he ever expected to see from the tiny Grunt. She bounced a few paces away and he couldn’t tear himself from her, from this distinctly different person.

“Uh…” 

“Hmm, bike probably not the best option.” Her eyes danced around. “But it’s late and we can go slow enough to not ruin your shirt.” 

“I mean,” He did want to avoid Hypno, thoroughly convinced now that walking not the best idea until Ali dug through her coat closet and brought out a full face and visor helmet. “Motorcycle?” 

“Yeah, obviously. My bike.” 

“Oh, yeah. No. I mean…” 

“OK. Walking it is.” The helmet crashed into shoes and clothes, the closet door slamming shut before he saw the aftermath. “Come on. We got to be quick as a Ninjask. Whole building’s going to be talking about what kind of whore I am now, anyway. Don’t really need to add much fuel to Futaba’s fire.” 

“We didn’t,” Tim stammered.

“We’ve been in here long enough. And, you know, walk of shame or something and,” Ali cracked the closet one more time, “It looked like I’m wearing something different with my hoodie… You’re going to be the talk of Bellossom Avenue.” 

“Oh, good.” 

Suddenly, his long day felt overwhelming. He wanted to collapse onto his bed and pass out, pushing away the continuing dread of joblessness and his family woes until her hand gently took his arm again. 

Tim turned to follow her out, or at least protest again that he could take a cab because the ridiculousness of her walking all the way back to Harry’s and then back here again boggled the mind. Brilliant white bone shone just behind her neatly made bed. There was a smaller bed behind hers, with a perfectly white skull and bone club, lovingly arranged on the bed. 

“Are you coming?” She had the front door cracked open. 

* * *

The book burned in his pocket. How could he have taken such a monumentally precious memento? She gave it to him but he should have insisted she keep the book, keep it in a place of honor like Cu’s skull and bone club because he intruded on her life, not the other way around, with Harry and only caused more trouble. Any time Tim tried to say something, anything, about the book or ask her about Cu or whoever the hell Mrs. Futaba was, words utterly failed him. 

Didn’t matter, though. Ali kept up a constant stream of chatter like she’d done all night. She complained about the men she worked with, except Yoshida. She complained about her double-ish life, explaining that no one in the neighborhood even knew she was a cop. 

“Angel, though?” he asked. 

“Ah, yeah, well. On the street…”

“Only you would be cool enough to say ‘on the street’,” and it just came out. The insensitivity of that dumbass comment. Was it insensitive to say that when she had lived on the street? 

“I’m not cool.” Her voice fell between a laugh and crying. 

“Cooler than I ever was.” Tim. King of saying the wrong thing at the absolute best time. His torture wouldn’t last much longer. They were only a few buildings from Harry’s. And that was how he got them to the, THE, most awkward point in the night. Which was saying something for sure. 

So, Tim did what he should have done all along, kept quiet until they got to the door and he said the only thing he’d wanted to say the entire walk, “I really don’t hate you.” His voice so tiny and faraway. 

“Uh,” Ali glanced around, then up to the apartment window, the one his father never closed, “That’s probably good. Because I didn’t really plan to leave your father to his own devices.” She chewed on the inside of her cheek, she bid him a quick goodnight.

Tim went in, but at the stairs turned and saw her lingering at the door, checking her phone and messing with her hair. He didn’t understand why his dad was so dead set against letting her sleep on the couch? He thought about calling a cab for her. What he really hoped was she would turn around and come in with him, complaining about how utterly stupid his father was being and sleep on the couch, anyway. Maybe even…stay up and talk more. But after a few seconds his hopes faded as Ali turned back up the street and he turned to go up to Harry’s apartment.   
The apartment was dark except for the desk lamp. He’d been sorting, or rather ‘sorting’, through stacks of financial papers, newspaper clippings and text message transcripts, which he expected his father to still be working on, like every night, into the wee hours of the morning before crashing on the couch or at the desk. 

During a pit stop in his room to hang the shirt on the closet door, Tim heard a loud crash followed by a thud and scurry. 

“Dad?” 

Tim peered around the corner of his closet to his dad’s room. The light had been off so when he didn’t see Harry ‘sorting’ he assumed his dad was actually asleep. Pikachu came racing around and into the bathroom and quickly back out to the master bedroom with a facecloth. 

“Dad?” He tried again at the door, knocking softly. 

Harry still didn’t answer him, instead trying to shoo away his partner with a wave of his beer bottle. Reason enough for Tim to let himself in. 

“Tim?” Still dressed fully, even wearing his jacket, Harry sat on the edge of the bed newly soaked with beer. “I didn’t hear - you’re home?” 

“Yeah.” 

Pikachu pressed at Harry’s hand and arm, mopping his partner and adding angry “Pika pika PI,” at Harry every few seconds while he concentrated on drying his partner’s hand. “Ali walked me back.” 

“Of course she didn’t listen to me.” 

“Did you have another beer?” Tim pried the empty bottle out of his dad’s grasp.

“Took a play straight out of Ali’s playbook.” Harry sighed and Pikachu mumbled on the bed, gathering up a pile of pictures. “Needed something to drown out my complete and utter failure.” 

Twice in one night Tim felt thrown into the role of therapist. With Ali, it wasn’t so bad. Sure, he had zero idea what to say to her when of all people he really should. He’s lost the most important person in his life too. Was that so different from losing a partner? But everything he wanted to say came across so false. Pretty much a regurgitation of what people had been telling him for years and he knew how well that worked on him. But in the end she did most of the heavy lifting, openly offering him her feelings. Harry, who never shut up before, he had to be the one to hole up inside of himself lately.   
Until now. “I mean... failed you as a father,” Harry threw down the picture he’d been holding of Tim as a baby, “And I am constantly failing Ali.” He threw down a second picture of a teenage girl. Dirty, in more of an unwashed way, with a Cubone, sitting in the middle of a park. Skull memorabilia emblazoned on most of her tattered clothing. Ali. 

But she was younger. Not like a nineteen-year-old, young undercover cop. She was young, fifteen. Sixteen, tops. 

“She was on a team?” The edge of the bed reeked of beer, and a puddle still fizzed on the floor. Tim knelt with Pikachu, distractedly wiping the puddle but really studying the picture. Heavy Skull pendant dangled between her knees. Black ink poked out from the edge of her cutoff t-shirt, but not the Marowak tattoo that now stared back from that shoulder. Not just any Marowak. He’d only figured it out now. Cu. That Marowak was Cu.

“Stupid, stubborn Tauros! She wanted to be independent. Didn’t need help. God. Now look at her!” 

Back then Ali had almost no muscle mass. Skinny and pronounced bones everywhere. Shoulders, jaw, knuckles. He bet she was still strong. Not Machamp strong, but being on a Team automatically made her somewhat more bad ass at that age than he’d ever be. They were just sitting in a park, sweaty and surrounded by more black and white Skull paraphernalia. He never would have believed _this_ scrawny girl was Ali but, god, now it made sense. “She became a cop. You should be proud.”

“Sure. Proud that she took a career that got her only family left killed. Proud that instead of taking care of herself when her partner died she threw herself so far into her work that no one can pull her back out.” Harry whistled low, crashing back into the beer-stained sheets in a fiery pantomime explosion. This was becoming even more ridiculously melodramatic than his father sober. Harry buried his face in his hands. “Going from a Narcotics task force, with the occasional undercover stint, straight to Teams control and constantly undercover in the most dangerous Team. The Team constantly targeted by Rocket. Every. Single. Day.” 

Ok, he had to believe that his father was actually a capable teacher. That Ali knew what she was doing, particularly because she’d been on a Team. Except he couldn’t muster that same confidence when he said, “But...she’s,” then he realized the opportunity he had. “So, do you always send Ali out on _errands_ for you?” 

Distracted by peeling the label off his beer, which Tim hadn’t realized Harry had grabbed again, fidgeting in the same way he’d seen Ali when her nerves were fried, “Didn’t start out that way. You think I could stop her?” 

He already knew better than to ever try and stop her. Just the thinking about getting in her path made his shoulder throb angrily at him. “Oh, wonder where she learned that from.” 

“Do you know,” he certainly did not, but did it matter if he wanted to know? He did, but he also knew Harry wouldn’t shut up no matter what his answer was, “she used to just break in and I’d come home and find her at the desk, eating the last of my food, with exactly what I’d been out to get.” And presumably failed hence Ali going out and getting whatever the something was. Pikachu growled, sparks and all, at Harry when he dropped the soggy label into his fur.

“Two peas in a freaking pod.” Granted, Ali was a miniature, Machamp, female version of his father. He could almost mistake her for Harry’s own daughter. Plus, she simultaneously scared and intrigued Tim. 

Harry watched light dancing on the ceiling as a neon sign flickered outside. At this point and with that much beer in his dad, Tim had no compelling argument to his father’s drunk logic. A special kind of logic that did not equal sober logic. Also, Harry’s emotions were running away from him. 

That didn’t stop Tim from asking, “Wh-what about me?” 

“Look, I never should have asked you to help get my memories back.” As if Harry knew who the hell he even was at the time. “I could have lost you. So, no! I’m not sending you out there, straight into Team territory. Can you even imagine what your Gram would say?” That…was a very fair point. If only Harry had, he didn’t know, maybe, told him about the Teams and where their territory was so that he didn’t just go wandering into dangerous areas of the city. He was still processing the fact that there was even such a battle over Ryme between all the major Teams to begin with. “Ok?” 

“Pika pi?” Pikachu gasped, then everything fell from his shoulders and face to all of his fur when the first dry sob. 

“Oh, boy.” Tim sighed. Tears trailed down the sides of his dad’s face. “OK, dad.” Switching modes to drunk babysitter. Not his idea of a fun night, but infinitely better than any time he had to drunk babysit Jack. 

“Universe is against me. Can’t have both, huh? To have you do I have to…” 

“No.” Tim stopped him before the tears turned to real, heaving sobs. Because a drunk sobbing mess of a man had the potential to lead to more real bodily fluid mess for him to clean up. “Ok, and,” patted his dad’s leg, “I think you need to get some sleep. Come on.” Pikachu agreed, jumping onto the bed and batting at Harry to move so he could fold back the comforter. 

Harry slurred, “I have work to do.”

“Sure.” Guiding his dad’s legs onto the bed, Harry obediently laid back. 

“I...wow...pillow…” 

“Yup.” 

“I’m just gonna close my eyes.”

“Yeah.” 

“Pika-chu?” 

“Oh, that was something.” 

“Pika pika pi?” 

“Ali’s fine. Not drunk anymore.” 

Pikachu dragged himself across his partner to fall face first flat on the bed. “Piiiiii,” he whined. 

“Get some sleep, buddy.” 

* * *

Beep. Beep. Beep. 

Tim reached out for his alarm clock, slapping the nightstand all around the clock but never hitting it. The alarm clock continued blaring at him until he sat up and found it just out of reach on his desk. He swore he left the clock on the nightstand. A few moments later the alarm on his phone started with a musical scale. Did he set both alarms? After he got Harry snug in bed he went through the normal nightly motions getting himself ready for bed Tim collapsed on top of his sheets, not even bothering to climb under the comforter. He didn’t have a critical role in Harry’s meeting. Just another client like any other day. But Tim usually got up, tearing tiny tasks from his dad’s grip so he could help while also making sure that the office didn’t look as if someone released an Aeroblast on the room. 

Today Tim had his work cut out for him, making sure his hungover father got out of bed and was coherent enough for his meeting. Probably should have set an earlier alarm for all that.

A hearty, almost smoky scent permeated the apartment. Fresh hot coffee, like he was in Hi-Hat, enveloping him and instantly waking him fully. This coffee was nothing like the coffee he was used to smelling in the apartment. Harry’s stale, musty can he’d found under the cabinet hidden behind a pot. Not even Pikachu could stomach the smell of that coffee in the apartment. The little ‘mon rushed to open every window, turn on every fan, and finally resorted to sitting on the fire escape if Harry brewed that crap. 

A rustling came from the office and kitchen. Harry was awake? Before him? After drinking that much? 

Tim checked, he had enough time for a shower, fresh clothes and to grab a quick piece of fruit to tide him over during the meeting until he was able to get a proper breakfast. 

But that scent! He followed that heavily rich scent as it got stronger. Tim sighed and entered the office. “I didn’t even know you could make real coffee.” A delicate, tiny hand turned a steaming mug to the edge of the breakfast bar, next to a set of silverware. 

“Of course I can make coffee.” Ali answered back. Rumpled clothes that looked suspiciously like the hoodie she wore on their walk back. Hair crossed this way and that, falling messily out of her hair tie.

Ali wiped at her eyes, he saw she was still fighting off the last remnants of sleep just like him. 

“Ali?” Tim grimaced, “Didn’t you go home?” 

“But your dad?” She continued on without acknowledging his other question, “Coffee’s about the only thing he can make. Pretty sure he burned soup once.” She made a quick turn away from him and busied herself putting together a plate. Tim caught sight of her jeans, the same hole filled, greasy jeans from the night before, rumpled and creased, hanging looser from wearing them for so long. “You better not have judged my cooking based on those kebabs last night.” Fresh cut strawberries and bananas tumbled over the sides of a large slice of a cake, almost like a giant waffle, drizzled in sticky sweet syrup. A small tea strainer hovered over the plate, dusting the sticky cake with snow white powder. Ali cleaned a dribble of syrup dangling too close to the edge with a dishcloth and turned the plate ever so slightly toward him. The breakfast plate could have been pulled straight out of a magazine or cooking show.

Tim blinked a few times expecting the plate to disappear as if part of an elaborate dream because he’d had Ali on his mind. There was no way she woke up early to break in to his dad’s apartment, well she didn’t need to break anything when she had a key, to make him breakfast and coffee. Did that pinching thing actually work? Would he wake up or just look like an idiot? “Did you make this?” 

She didn’t respond, instead she dipped her hands into the sink full of water to wash a plate. “Eat,” she gave him a half smile. 

Cutting the cake felt wrong. He’d be ruining a piece of art. Real, tangible art that made his stomach grumble. Ali’s weary eyes brightened, teeth glimmering in a sleepy yet effervescent smile now. The crust on top crunched, then the rest of the cake gave way. Spongy and soft and perfect against the bitter aftertaste of the coffee. 

“Where did you sleep last night?” Tim glanced around the office. Every scrap of paper, every empty paper coffee cup, had been miraculously swept away to reveal polished wood surfaces. If the coffee didn’t fill the apartment with its own nutty, deep scents he suspected he’d smell the lemony chemicals for cleaning wood, or strong disinfectant which might be smarter in Harry Goodman’s apartment. “ _Did_ you sleep last night?” 

“Sure.” She placed a cup and saucer next to his plate. “For the client.” A brand-new file folder slid next to the cup. “I used the good coffee, the one I buy because Mr. G always buys crap. I swear he can’t taste the difference. Here milk and sugar…” 

“Milk?” 

“Uh,” her eyes opened wider, “Yeah? I don’t usually use…” 

Creamer, any of the ones he’d ever tried, was gross and Tim loathed those tiny cups that didn’t need to refrigeration even more. But he’d never seen anyone use milk. Her coffee must have been in Harry’s faded Pikachu mug, lightened to a soft caramel color. Her recovery came swiftly, “So, I looked up the woman who’s coming in. She’s pretty well off, wife to a hedge fund manager. Mr. G gets a lot of these quick jobs, usually a wife looking into a mistress, or their husband using their joint partners for illegal gambling or whatever, I always use the fine china. Make a halfway decent impression on them. These clients are fast work and usually high pay.” 

“I watched you go home.” 

“That’s creepy,” she replied while flipping through her own documents. 

“I was inside my building.” 

“Maybe that makes it creepier.” A single finger traced around the top of her coffee mug as Ali drew in a sharp breath. “I’ll take the rest of the beer when I go. Sorry about last night. Should have seen the signs or expected,” she sighed.

She’d heard? The only place he could think she’d hid was…

“Did you sleep on the fire escape?” 

“No. That’s insane.” Purple bags hung low under her eyes. She might not have slept at all. Her eyes drooped closed so much he’d almost thought she’d fallen asleep standing when she said, “I’m going to wake your dad.” 

Frantically, Tim scooped a few mouthfuls of the sweet cake, Tim jogged after her. 

“It’s a very scientific method. Works every time.” 

Ali didn’t even pause entering Harry’s room. Pikachu lay sprawled, taking up more than half the bed, snoring. With a smooth scooping motion Pikachu gave a weary “Pika,” and Ali rolled him into Tim’s arms. Silently, Ali walked, not crept, to the closer of his dad’s night stands and she pulled it away from the bed. Phone out, she circled the bed and scrolled, taking her time choosing. Tim opened his mouth to say something, but she held up a single finger, nodding and grinning widely. Finally, an electric guitar buzzed through his dad’s alarm clock speaker, thrusting Harry back to the land of the waking. It should have been enough. Harry groggily looked at his speaker, not seeing Ali on the opposite side of the mattress where she heaved the corner of the mattress up over her head and Harry rolled right off the bed, narrowly missing the nightstand. “Wake up, you lush!” Ribs aching with the effort to keep his laughter in, Tim gave in. Already in Harry’s closet, Ali threw a clean shirt, pants and even a tie onto the bed. “I’ll eat your breakfast if you don’t get your ass out of here in the next five minutes.” 

“Pikachu!” 

“Oh my god," Harry groaned from the floor, “I will lock that damn window!” 

“Good luck with that,” stopping at Tim’s shoulder, “I broke the lock years ago when I broke in to sleep on his couch.” She wasn’t exactly trying to be quiet. 

Still, rolling futilely on the ground until the pain of smacking his head and back on the wood floor subsided, Harry choked out, “I’ll fix it.” 

“Yeah, who you going to hire? Cause I ain’t doing it.” 

“You eavesdropping…” 

Reappearing around the corner, she looped her hands through Tim’s arm, yanking him with her as she sang, “Tick tock. Breakfast is going to be gone…in…four minutes and a half minutes.”

“I’m changing the door locks too.” 

“I’ll break into Tim’s room and tell him all your dirty secrets in the middle of the night.” Like she’d made a mistake touching him, she shrugged out of his arm. He didn’t really mind, still trying to figure out if he was dreaming or not. Ali cleared her throat and said loud and clear, “And I’m taking the beer.” 

Ducking under his desk, she pulled a half empty six-pack. “Good luck. Make sure he doesn’t pass out again during the meeting.” 

“I’ll be fine.” They exchanged a long, dubious look then Harry added, “As long as there’s coffee.” 

Ali mouthed ‘yeah’, checked there were no dregs of coffee left in her cup and gave Tim a hard clap on the shoulder making him wince, just like the Wimpod she accused him of being last night. Then she was out the window, the stairs rattling as she jogged down. 

“She used my mug.” Harry’s pout lasting mere seconds. Because then he saw the cake. 

“I give up,” Tim stared after her, at the empty window and escape. “Where did she sleep?” 

“Roof.” Examining his plate and then Tim’s, “Hey, why do you get powdered sugar?” 

It had been a long, loooong time since Tim had a reason to give anyone a shit-eating grin. 

“I own powdered sugar?” If his dad did, it was probably expired unless Ali actually baked in Harry’s apartment. “How did she wake you up?” 

“Alarm clock.” 

Harry chuckled into his cake. “She yelled in your ear?” Harry mimicked an alarm clock going off even as Tim tried shouting over him to stop. 

“No!” He shoved his father back out of his face. “She set my alarm clock. I’m not you getting drunk on a Tuesday night!” 

A little crestfallen, Harry asked, “Why does she like you more?” 

“Gee, I wonder.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! That was a long chapter! It kind of got away from me but at the same time I'm so happy I finally got those two idiot boys to get together and start to understand each other. 
> 
> Oh me gosh. Now on to the next! Hoping Camp Nano will get these rewrites going a bit faster! Thank you for reading!


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